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The Donkeys

The Blackpool donkeys have given up they have boarded jumbo jets to be emotional support animals for those lesser angels that protect us wingless fliers. They have opted out. Once they used to plod from Blackpool pier half a mile up, half a mile back, day after day, carrying kids and also others that drank beer as they heavily jogged along their thighs clapping sore ribs. In a dulled daydream the donkeys moved with downcast eyes, backs spavined from gleeful bums and knees. The sound of swishing waves lulling eventually into a sea-green batch of somnambulates. When they could carry no more -
some were
trucked away to be neglected unto death. Now the donkeys have retired themselves, have changed form. When not flying business class they surfboard in Hawaii, their Bermuda shorts billow widely as if tailored for four-legs. Those that once rode them on that uncultured British beach, now take river cruises to the more refined European cities and hardly ever see a donkey, but if they do I hope that for a moment they feel a knobby spine again bruising their sophisticated time-worn tight bottoms.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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