{This is a response to What Pegman Saw, several days late, I’m afraid. I have been involved, in helping to organize my local WordCamp, and that has led to many an hour, producing dry announcements for social media, rather than…ahem…literature. This poem is very tenuously related to Madagascar, in that, there are horses there, and even, quite probably, horse-racing. I did find a Facebook page and a travel blog on these topics.
But since we are in the midst of the Triple Crown, which my father has always watched with close attention, and, in which, I understand, my grandfather was even more keenly interested: I hope you will allow this rather off-topic poem to slip through the gate, and onto the track. As always, many thanks to Karen and Josh for opening this geographical challenge to us writers, and to all of you, who stopped by to read, thank you!}
Out of my depth, and fluttering,
The shore, receding; desperate;
Out of my league and muttering,
Full of conceit and questioning;
I’ve made my bed–now lie in it.
I’ve had my cake—now, eat it too.
Many a terse reply to it,
Many a scold, “I told you so.”
Fickle procrastination:
It drives off Drive, and warns off Hope,
And pickles, with salt-sedation,
All goals and rules, most resolute.
Why all this stand-still sinning?
Here is no place, for an idling mare,
When bookies predicted winning:
Such genes, such hands, such stride, such hair!
Less, than the crowds expected.
Less, than my own, most meager hope.
The bookies all stand, corrected,
As I prance, wrong way,
At a gentle lope.
Copyright 2019 Andrea LeDew
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