Like most poems about horses seated on trains - no matter how handsome the horse and smart the line - Arp fails to deal with the decorum of how to handle horse shit.
I have always kept my horse off the train and, preferably, either in the barn or in the field, and, when in town, we have special places 'to tether'.
We know how to fun and not raise a stink at the same time. Yeah, we be uppity, me and my horse.
Stephen
Halvard Johnson <[log in to unmask]> wrote: Are we really done with train poems already?
Here's one by another:
I am a horse
I travel in a train
that is overcrowded
in my compartment
each seat is taken by a woman
with a man sitting on her lap
the air is unbearably tropical
all the travellers have an enormous appetite
they eat without ceasing
suddenly the men
begin to whimper
and long for the maternal breast
they unbutton the women's blouses
and suck the fresh milk to their hearts' content
I alone do not suck
nor am I suckled
nobody sits on my lap
and I'm not on anyone's lap
because I am a horse
immense and upright I sit
with my hind-legs up on the train seat
and comfortably lean
on my fore-legs
I whinny a raucous neigh neigh neigh
on my breast glitter
the sex buttons of sex appeal
in neat little rows
like the glittering buttons on uniforms
oh summertime
oh wide wide world
--Hans Arp
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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