A Horse after Dark

I saw a horse after dark

alone, on the avenue that links

Moore and Centennial Park,

with a name like Buttercup;

a trotting cliche.

Unexpected, you'd think,

to see a horse after dark

in this city

where she should no longer be,

and my heart quickens pace

before she pulls to a canter,

and I realise she's not who I thought.

For those who ride saddles

like I do bus seats;

with an absence that mimics sleep.

For those bushrangers who never baulk

at the sight of a horse after dark,

who can drift in the ocean

full of orcas and sharks

and not think sinking is the best option

while they reach for a leaden life vest.

For those who gasp for air

at every waking moment

and know their survival is never guaranteed.

There will always be more,

another horse after dark,

different or the same

different and the same

same same but different,

and as she walks away

I'll do my best to run a hand

along her back

so she knows that I'm still there.