Slight the scent of wax-polished leather,
equine royalty stand reluctantly tethered;
sweet dunged-straw in distant stalls,
annoucements on tinny speakers call.
Girls command horses, fifteen hands high,
skin-tight jodhpurs make most males sigh:
blond-hair, blush cheeks, such snug jackets;
wild-eyed horses rear, crazy neighing racket!
Pony club teens, such reckless joy riders,
luck or providence their protection-providers,
whizzing past on frenzy-driven mounts:
challenge, not safety, taken into account.
Clock tower tolls twelve, imitates Big Ben,
horses judged, bulbous, bowler-hatted men;
po-faced riders, gamine pretty, or plump,
gallantly they gallop, canter, and jump.
Clear round competitions, clapping crowds,
holding onto reins, proprietors proud;
exhibitors exchange winks of knowing,
mounts buff-brushed, sheen in sun glowing.
Hand lifted hats arrest equine attention,
hooves tamp turf, shit spoils any pretension,
impatient tails wave, picture perfect snap,
rural accents murmur, tweed jackets and caps.
Bored horses peek over worn half doors,
verbless they whinny, primal urges gnaw;
dark cobbled corridors, cobbles dung-pasted,
straw bales, oaten scent, hay almost tasted….