faux foal

You imagine yourself
I suppose
a foal deposed
from a womb
enclosed no more
in warm repose
An innocent newborn
whose only sin
is the glistening
of your skin
Your mind it seems
shakes and wobbles
of shocks it perceives
words that you hear
hurt like new legs
and a pony’s first fear
Words that abound
now sting like knees
first hitting the ground
Why, faux foal
do you err
hearing the sound
of a mare
as a ravenous hound?
Is your glowing mane,
thick black
merely showing
to tickle your back?

c. 2001, 2008 Evan Gilling

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