Horserace To The Bar Poem by Merle Steinmann

Your horse stands there trembling;
his sides heaving in and out.
His feet are on the steps.

Blood mixed with froth,
drips onto the landing;
from his mouth,
where the wicked bit and chain hang slack.

Blood flows from cuts and scrapes on all four legs.

You claim, 'I won! '
in your loud and obnoxious voice.

You cut across the park.
The other rider and his horse followed the rules.
You ran your horse through the hedges.

You got there first.

Loser!
Merle Steinmann