Peter Chapman Poetry

shy horse

biking down a country road, i stopped to chat a handsome horse
under a tree by a fence of white, pawing the dust, brightly ears;
first one then the other of us would speak
or throw his head at what it was (or seemed) we said

a heavenly horse 'neath a blazy tree,
good inside the febrile me, wanting i had him in a trade:
skin for skin, horse to man, fair enough other than

i shouldn't have thought his worth, or wished
he'd ripple up his hide, huff the fairy airy sky,
sweet grass tree, fence and bike and livery

in God's name one or the other, couth

he felt a shiver in the ochregrass, sank his legs
taut his ass and loosed a bouncing splash of pee
(joking the head of a boy like me)
raising dust like a spout at sea

and so as not to be outdone,
i undid myself in the tumescent sun
man to beast, curly big and best released