Poem and photos based on experiences of the Royal Dublin Society Annual Horse Show
Slight the scent of wax-polished leather,
boxed-in royalty, equines stand tethered;
sweet scent wafts from dark passage of stalls,
echoing announcements over speaker calls.
Girls command horses, fifteen hands high,
tight jodhpurs, high boots makes this male sigh:
blond-hair, blush cheeks, so snug their jackets;
wild-eyed horses rear-up, hear that whinny racket!
Pony club teens, reckless their riding
driving their colts on, close to colliding,
passing game baton, daring their mounts:
adrenaline overdose, every second counts.
Clock tower toll, Big Ben counterfeit
bowler-hatted judges, pompous as their weight
clear rounds cause clapping from horsey crowds,
jockeys widely smile, proprietors stand proud.
Hand lifted hats arresting equine attention,
hooves tamp turf, horseshit spoils pretension,
impatient tails wave, picture perfect snap,
small talk exchanged, tweed jackets and caps.
Bored horses peek over barred half-doors,
wordless eyes surmise, large primal teeth gnaw;
dark cobbled corridors, strawed dung splatter,
hooves angrily stamp amid the clip-clop clatter…