Leather, cool and cracked.
It is not the first, but the last;
Time has escaped us once again.
Saddle resting upon her back,
44 inches of courage that I lack.
Fasten, tighten, pull.
Frosted plastic in my hand;
Her mouth – wrinkles like valleys span,
Crafted to a face, shaped around an eye.
Dust escapes before boots and hooves,
Foot in stirrup, in walk, in trot she moves -
One, two, one two, one two
In placid eyes tears roll back and forth
On my flawless rocking horse;
Canter – one two three one two three
To dismount is to give up, to fail;
Instead sweet sweat and dust with each inhale.
But we cannot be one forever
One two three four one two three four,
I dream of her steps six years before.
But now she moves away, not towards.
I have grown too big to even try
To mount once more to say goodbye
Silly that over this plastic that I cry?