a poem by Phillip Joseph Hussey, UK

Here I stand at the fence with bated breath
Unable to wait for the race's death
Down to the start twenty horses canter
While punters' bet and also banter
One by one into the starting stalls
The horses bundled in while a jockey calls
The handlers putting the horses in
Which brace as the race is about to begin
Soon the raised starter's flag flashes
The gates are open against the stall clashes
They're off into a flying start
A blend of colours the horses and jockeys impart
The thunderous sounds of hooves on the ground
Can be heard from the speakers sound
As the commentator gives a verbal account
Of each and every running mount
The racers reach the junction of the two courses
They're strung out now these striding horses.
Into the straight and 'homeward bound
Cheering comes from all around
There's shouting coming from the bars
As the favourite 'See The Stars'
Moves quickly to the front in a twinkle
I'm busy looking for 'Rip Van Winkle'
Here he comes all the same
A surge towards the leader he came
The horse in front finds another gear
Poor Rip's left never near
Suddenly it's over, what a baloney
I've lost a blinking lot of money
On that thoroughbred 'Rip'
Whom I hoped would the favourite pip
Now the silence in my mind rings
At the futility of this 'Sport of Kings'
But oh no it's simple and pure
I'll be back next year, that's for sure
Rubens 2009

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