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His Last Ride
by S. Pelham FloodHis 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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