The Stablehand's Report

by Amy Miller

The owners thought
he might go the distance,
citing the slope of his chest

or the way his eye
would fix the rider, the groom,
the girl with the grain bucket,

or any halting stranger
with a sureness
uncommon to the breed.

But I had seen
his paddock ways,
distracted by scarves,

a thinness of concentration
blurring the sleepy morning track,
a willingness to run only

to incur the favor of others.
Alone, he browsed the haybin
as calmly as any might.

But race day brought its crush
of onlookers, the birds blown
like fireworks from the field

to settle and explode again,
ribbons and hats and the sideways
step of uncertain horses,

the post parade pulling him
into the stream, and I knew
we had lost already,

his eyes enamored of the crowd,
his fine head up and caring
nothing of what he came to do.

(First appeared in Borderlands: Texas)

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