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His Last Ride

by S. Pelham Flood

His dulling coloration—
silver-blue mane hair,
cloud-white body,
pink-lemonade cheeks—
reminds me of the cartoons
I made him watch with me.

His caricature eyes bulge
from his hollow PVC cast;
half-spheres of black onyx
set in his long face
six inches
above his whimpering
whinny grin.

He is enslaved
by the eight-gauge
coiled springs
connected to his hocks—
they are rust-pitted, stiff,
silent with stillness;
aged by the incessant
hyper-extension and relapse
under my weight.

He is saddled up,
waiting in mid-gait.

09/15/2005

Posted on 07/15/2009
Copyright © 2024 S. Pelham Flood

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Charlie Morgan on 07/15/09 at 04:31 PM

...i can see you and you're gonna fall and bust your butt; man, what a life you bring-to/give a memory, a dream...ahhh to be a lil' boy again...what a dance with little things such as our youth. good write.

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