The Racehorse Transporters!

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My old man always warned me to beware of fast women and slow horses (or it could have been the other way around?) I’ve never understood the attraction of horse-racing, that is not to say I’m against it, but it just doesn’t hold my limited attention span! The other day I drove past a small purple racehorse transporter, it set my mind a-wondering…

In the back of the lorry,
Munching at hay,
A runner at Lingfield,
Two thirty today!
Sitting in front,
Of this tireless campaigner,
The girl groom’s asleep,
Beside her the trainer.
Perched on a cushion,
A book in his face,
The jockey is silent,
His mind on the race.
They all know it’s hopeless,
The horse is not fast,
The owner will be livid,
When the horse comes in last!

© Baldock Bard 2014
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