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Do not Push It
I’m like horses do not like the wind today it is northerly and
the sun despite shining free of clouds cannot warm my chilled bones.
Horses turn their considerable behinds against the wind and keep 
their heads low. My behind is skinny and does not protect my neck, 
but a scarf does. I used to have strong fingers now they are thin look 
like a Bangladesh river delta .And to think there was a time I laughed 
at the face of frost and if needed would run bare chest across 
the unfriendly of plains of opposite Poles, me, the leader of the pack 
the man who once met Fidel Castro, a man of great dignity, but my 
god he was boring, only had one subject---himself.  

But I do deviate, I’m only an Argentinean horse adopted illegitimately by 
a general major, his wife wanted a foal. The landscape now has hundred 
colours of green but it worries me that if ISIS takes world power vines will 
rot on my land and when they pass on their pick-up trucks I must wave 
a black ,inartistic flag with intelligible writing on. My wife the practical one
will say: after the Islamists took power in Portugal my husband finally got 
sober enough to be offered a job as an Imam.

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