Poem and photos based on experiences of the Royal Dublin Society Annual Horse Show
Slight the scent of wax-polished leather,
equine royalty boxed-in, tethered;
dunged-straw sweet wafts from stalls,
echoing announcements over speakers call.
Girls command horses, fifteen hands high,
tight jodhpurs and jackets make most males sigh:
blond-hair, blush cheeks, so snug their jackets;
wild-eyed horses rear, neighing racket!
See pony club teens recklessly riding
daring their colts, close to colliding,
passing the baton, mad-driven mounts:
adrenaline overdose, every second counts.
Clock tower tolls, imitates Big Ben,
in ring see bulbous, bowler-hatted men;
clear rounds cause clapping from crowds,
reins tightly held by proprietors proud.
Hand lifted hats arrest equine attention,
hooves tamp turf, shit spoils pretension,
impatient tails wave, picture perfect snap,
comments exchanged, tweed jackets and caps.
Bored horses peek over worn half-doors,
wordlessly whinny, see primal teeth gnaw;
cobbled corridors, dark and dung-splattered,
hooves angrily stamped or clip-clop clattered…