Within my hands
I gently caress and reign you in,
steering you left and often right.
Your mane, flowing
in the wind I feed you corn,
while your heart beats rhythmically
to a new tune
long-since whistled by frail Cowboys
that sat in your sun stained saddle.
I press my spurs
forcing you to accelerate
against your will down unpaved trails,
you become dusty
picking out flies stuck in your mouth
eyes blinded by covered blinkers.
One of your hooves
broken by the weight of mankind,
you refuse to budge one more inch.
I am stranded
yet I reach inside my pocket
and pull out my Triple-A card.
Today’s prompt from napowrimo.net is a poem of negation, which involves describing something in terms of what it is not, or not like.