TURNOUT
Two horses, damp from their baths,
stride beside me.
Walking to the pasture,
their iron shoes ring on concrete.
An Audi speeds
towards us,
spewing dust.
Rich car, I mutter.
We stop.
The car passes.
Framed in the receding
rear window, a young face
strains to watch us until the car
rounds the corner
and she can see no more.
I turn the horses out,
they run to friends,
leaving me behind.
I think back
thirty years, see a face
in the faded Chevy
wishing she had horses
to turn out.
Cold Mountain Review
