Sport 36: Winter 2008
Pet
Pet
Bloody Equus
eye rolling
away from me,
down to the too fat
bay belly, dusty on
the underside, heaving
like a heart beating,
with laminitis—
not enough riding
to keep those legs
strong.
He'll never get up again
so you stick the needle in
his tense neck
and stop the flies
irritating his bloody eyes.
You dig a hole in the back
paddock and plant
an ash tree
for the pet
pony.
I remember it as a gunshot
rather than a shot
of barbiturate,
straight through the star
on his forehead;
not two doses
to stop the body
shuddering,
but one bullet
between
the bloody eyes.