What You Don't See Won't Hurt You, You Think

By Vincent R. Pozon

She is twitchy, her skin trembling,
she leans back with head raised, eyes wide,
nostrils flared, shifting her weight from
one leg to the other, she paws the ground.

Horses are a nervous lot, what she
does not understand, she sees
as dangerous, so blinders are worn
so she can only see what is ahead:

Children grimy, wordless with empty
bowls and eyes that scream, she sees
the corrupt man cross the road, but
these, that man, she has seen before.

But a raised fist, or farmers fighting
for their fields, red placards and banners,
they are dangerous to the nervous,
wailings of the world of the poor and pained

but the horse relies on eyesight
veiled by blinders, they are unseen
and so she traipses on, and will not see
what looms just round the corner.