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Riders Up
I stood at the rail, watching a filly called Midnight Black
and breathed in the pungent scent of liniment and leather.
Love for Thoroughbred racing lures me back to the track,
even when the course is sloppy from stormy weather.
Earlier, I observed her in the paddock, saddled as she walked.
She sensed it was race day, as around the ring she pranced.
A likely winner, but the tote board had the odds deadlocked
between her and a mare whose age was a bit advanced.
I compared them both carefully, clearly the best looking of all.
Trainers gave the jockeys the plan of strategy they should use
and then the call of, "Rider's up." Midnight Black left her stall.
With a few bucks on her to win, I hoped she wouldn't lose.
Anxiety was building as they warmed up before the race,
before each frisky runner was loaded into the starting gate.
A long shot darted out in front and set a breakneck pace,
but the black stumbled. In the jockey's hand was her fate.
Half a mile found her encroaching on the three leaders.
She had to circle the field which would slow her down,
but I knew she'd been bred by reputable horse breeders.
Her sire was a champion who'd worn the Derby crown.
At the top of the stretch, she'd gained more than a length,
Her jockey crouched low, a signal to her it was time to go.
As she passed by me, I admired her muscular strength.
She was poetry in motion. My anticipation began to grow.
One furlong to travel before they would cross the finish line.
Midnight Black pricked her ears and started running flat out.
She beat her competition by three lengths. What an equine!
Cashed my ticket and treated my buddies to a glass of stout.
January 4, 2023
Poetry In Motion Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Copyright ©
Lin Lane
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