Fighting Chance
I read about this true story - it happened in Elizabethan England - and was so
upset that I needed to write this poem to get it off my chest. It's been published 3
times.
FIGHTING CHANCE
The mobs that packed the place
Were slavering for blood;
They sniffed it in the air
And, drooling, watched it flood.
The bears and bulls were dead;
A horse was dragged to fight,
It whinnied, reared and bucked,
Its nostrils flared in fright.
The pack was at the horse,
Their hungry jaws like traps;
That brutal, bloody scene
Was met with cheers and claps.
The gore of horse and dogs
Had turned the dust red-brown;
Those snarling dogs no match
For hooves that thundered down.
The dogs lay scattered round;
The roaring crowd was awed;
But then demanded more:
A second pack was called.
The horse, insane with fear,
Exhausted, fought to live;
The dogs were fresh, but he
Should have no more to give.
His will to live was strong;
The dogs were on his back;
Defeating mastiff jaws,
He tossed and killed that pack.
The rabble drunk on blood,
Addicted to it then,
Still called for more; the horse
Was hacked to death by men.
Jack Horne
Copyright © Jack Horne | Year Posted 2011
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