I picked the best horse, he looks to be a bright blue stallion, head thrown back as though caught in the height of action.
His mane, tufty in appearance yet made of plastic, surrounded by two females, pink and purple whose eyes aren’t bothering to view him.
My stallion isn’t distracted, he is here and he is present, in mind and body and soul I will ride him on this merry-go-round.
He will always beat the females who appear there simply to preen, not for any horse other than themselves their attentions are for themselves, it seems.
And as I win the race with my stallion in first place I know that I could have performed the task myself, with my human legs running upon the ride as a sprinter’s dream. But it’s nice to have something leading the way, and persisting in its dreams.
So, I dismount from the stallion pat his mane gently all the way down his spine I thank him for his galloping ability and wish I could make this merry-go ride mine.
Not because it caused me a thrill, not because I wish for eloquence or speed, but simply because it allowed me a break from my life, where I was in front, a forerunner, a winner, without needing to beg to be seen.
