Horseflesh Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Was it the devil resting on
my rubber booted foot?
He drank for an eternity,
his mane reminding me
that flies abound in sulphur air
the weight was overwhelming now,
a hoof so sharp, of Clydesdale size,
a gentle, crushing giant.
The memory of that event
has lingered now for years,
the more I live the more I fear
it was the foot of Satan.
Perhaps the horse, for just one day,
a kindred spirit unbeknownst,
to both of us, but devils scorned,
sees wooden stakes aimed at the heart
of evil aimed at beast and man.
There was a scent that made me stand
in warming touch, unspoken words,
so close that it attracted him
a grimacing mad face.
Yet in the face of balmy heat
and feral understanding
two souls so distant, under par
unite in harmony.