But my passion ran deep, content I was not. Opposite the greenhouse was a corner of the garden not planted, so I claimed it as my special place, and began to build a horse. Yes that’s right, build a horse, not a house. I began with a large metal trunk as the base, then a rolled up mattress as the body. I got a second hand saddle complete with stirrups and a set of reins from the stables. Polythene and an old army blanket covered most of the contraption and I fashioned a head with papier-mâché and many coats of varnish to keep it waterproof. To many it may have seemed a pile of rubbish but to me it was my horse, my friend, and I treated it as such, going every day to attend to it and polish the saddle and ride it. Maybe I was trying to prove to my father that if I did have a horse I would be committed to looking after it. He was amused, I think, but did not change his mind about getting me one. This was not a passing phase, the horse remained in tact for eight years, and I looked after it until I left home.
That
plastic rubbish
Taking
up space, messing my room.
I
want more time
To
play outdoors
There
is my horse, I am the groom.
I
play for hours
Galloping
across the downs and jumps
His
mane a rope
But
the saddle is real
His
body built from trunks of steel.
I
talk to him my stallion friend
This
fantasy will never end.
I
urge him on
From
trot to canter.
I
stroke his neck,
His
breath I feel.
Together
we ride
Over
hedges and fields
This
substitution for reality.
So
don’t buy me toys
Father
can’t you see
My
imagination is good enough for me.
2 comments:
Oh yes! I really empathize with this
Absolutely get this! My parents couldn't afford a horse when I was a girl, but (despite the ups and downs and horse free periods of life) the love never went away. I am still round them despite my age. Was the sole recipient of my Grandads passion for horses!
Post a Comment