I ready a horse for war*

In terms of furnishings and decor, I am not
mismatched vintage, nor repurposed mason jar.

I am not even a music player made to look old
to look new and marvelously as-if-old again.

I am not the discovery of sex and fumbling
in the sheets, against the rough stones

of a garden wall; nor a flower plucked
from a bar stool in some navy town. I am

neither the invention of offspring— so
cute, so twee— to dress in rompers and tote

around as accessories. I don’t mix
well with others but it doesn’t mean that I

don’t give a shit. I sit in the kitchen carving
fruit parings with my knife, turning castoff skins

into some kind of new animal. I’ll teach it
to fetch things and to sing, but not to curtsy.

– *Dave Bonta

 

In response to Via Negativa: Horse whisperer.

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