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painted horse

the little ones gathered ‘round
ratcheting their bottoms
against the carpet as if trying to
permanently stay in place

you see
the old man began
bobbing his head
in the old days
you could drive out to the country
with your sweetheart by your side
leaving a trail of dust behind you
weaving your way through rolling hills
where rows of corn stretch toward the sun
and gigantic cows feed on fields
that forever stay green

once you reach the sign
with the painted horse
you abandon the car
and walk hand in hand down a narrow lane
leading you to an antiquated world
where you first learn to saddle your new best friend
and ride off into the sunset
with courage and grace



march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved