Dark Horse

I and my cousin Ronnie
Are boys standing by a
Farmer’s pasture each by
Our Dad’s side watching
The farmer trying to bridle
A dark horse who runs full
Gallop toward the far fence
Then at the last moment
Turning aside from impact
Or jumping over if possible.
Fear for the horse and farmer
Are matched by fear for our own
Lives as we are meant to
Ride this crazy horse if caught.
The horse plays with the old
Farmer like a very big dog,
Swerving away as the farmer
Approaches then standing
Docile until the last minute
Only to dodge the bridle and
Begin another charge at the far
Fence only to swerve away again.
Difficult to tell which animal
Is in charge as each fence charge
Leaves us sickened with fear the
Horse may injure itself.
The old farmer does entice the
Horse to bridle asking our fathers
Which one of us wants to take
A ride first to which I suggest
Ronnie though my memory
Fades here and I cannot
Remember which of us if
Either rode that dark horse
Who loved to charge fences.
Perhaps common sense
Prevailed and neither one of
Us had to risk our young life
And limb but thinking back
To that field in southern
Illinois I think our Dads both
Opted we should ride and risk,
They both had a stubborn
Streak that ignored rational
Thought and in the grey areas
Between, they made decisions
That flashed out like pinkish
Yellow musket fire shocking
By its’ suddenness and thunder.
My guess is we both rode a
Bit but under close supervision
And safe unless the horse
Spooked and charged a fence
With Ronnie or I holding on.
So many memories from
Those fields, woods, hills,
And creeks are only
Remnants that
Will not still
Connect
Though
The dark horse
Of our fathers’ nature
Remains in each
Of us.