that old heifer

as a man who will always forget how to talk 
i bear bruises and tears 
from the handful of times when the muse
that old heifer 
wakes where i left er 
miles back
and charges 

i first faintly hear her hooves
click-clack, but soon
the street begins to shake
and i can distinguish her furious lowings

try as i may to jot them in plain english
to maybe slow her
turn around, give her what she wants
coax her to walk beside me in peace
so far she ain’t having it 

full bore and i feel her hellish snort
upon my back, just before i’m trampled 
my little book airborne like a wooden pin
smash and roll in a whirr of sky and earth 

and when i finally rise
she’s five years ahead in a trail of dust
someday we’ll cease this race 
and i’ll ride er slow and steady into my dusk