Contriting
The horse sailed into town,
saddle polished, silent whip cracking
and without clip-clopping rode quietly
into the arena of a family entertaining life.
Saddle bags of disbelief were dissemination
and crept into love pumps that bleated
bewilderment stuffed in grief. Murmurs
of helplessness galloped into each other.
No notch on the rider’s gun handle
for that purposeful void that’s left to linger,
no note of explanation for the kidnapping;
just grief and time to work it out.
Did he stroke his minion lovingly
before they carefully double saddled,
his pillion lapping the choicelessness
and speaking in a different tongue?
Did they both plead and beg and bargain,
spray contrition over each other’s pain,
leave gifts all coated in memories waiting
to be slowly and lovingly unwrapped?
Gene Barry - Irish Poet, Art Therapist, Counsellor, Hypnotherapist and Psychotherapist.
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