You glanced up,
whiskered mouth leaking
black Fiat ragtop,
galloped from the hood
clipped horns down
to bump me sideways
with a strong-necked nuzzle.

We knew your habits couldn't keep you.
Neighbors' tempers tend to fray
on rows of stubble
where trophies of knee-soiled
weekends once blazed, crack
on a convertible converted
to eternal sun-worship.

Fence, tree, spiral tether,
you'd chew your cud
four hooves aligned
shoulder-high on a thumbwidth gate,
circus stretch to chomp magnolias.

Tied,
you'd fling your weight
anchor outward
with metronomic surety,
short-clipped each click
with a bleating backflip
until your radial tire neck
would crush known laws of physics
and you'd clatter toward sweeter grass,
hooves high
in a mock dressage strut,
fifty feet of blue nylon
trailing a bouncing divot,
fresh crater agape.

You glanced up, dribbling canvas,
and we knew you'd have to go.
Your new farmer caretakers
left a promise; we were sure
we'd find you skipping
from apple tree to tractor tire
as maple leaves narrowed the lanes,
Thanksgiving slipped to snowdrifts,
but we never did.

Mar. ‘00