The Sun filters
through canopy leaves
to impose
a tinted pinto pattern
on a utility vehicle,

two-hundred some-odd
horses neighing
under the hood,
expecting imminent
metal pedaling
and waiting in July heat

for their concrete
cowboy to unhitch them
from the curbpost
after picking up
the second load
of dry-cleaning
in as many days.


Author: Aidan Badinger I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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