Canto CCXXVIII

Synchronised, you should have kept on running
out of that madcap circle ’til the shouts
of pissed punters gave way to the loud din

of carriageway carhorns—running without
that squat, whip happy monkey on your back.
They reined you in, the starter tape went taut,

and you were lost, part of the senseless trek,
hundreds of hooves and yet, just the one hedge
with your name on it, your unlucky break,

your final hurdle at nine years of age.

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