Horses of Ireland
Horses of Ireland
They blinded us and still we trusted them.
Carted over rutted roads, travelling west
through strung out towns, each with its own
band of farm boys down from the hills.
Those boys were desperate, shouting for love
after weeks of sky; never any words, only parched calls.
Some thumped the boxes to frighten us
and we kicked out to acknowledge our brothers,
who didn’t understand their own detention.
When we arrived, men took off our masks
let us loose on moon-like streets
where nothing grew, set us free
in un-named cul-de-sacs
where no-one walked.
We searched for water in the dark space
of cement mixers, then casually entered
doorways into rooms of air and weed.
Snorting like we’d always done
mystified at the turn of events.