Shod happily by Hephaestus, you half
war horse, half hausfrau–if Chiron only
saw you now, the sparks beating off your
You gallop to gather errands in town.
When steel knocks upon the butcher’s door, and
your steps thump through too many aisles of bread
and your backside just barely squeezes through
que-lines, where your short lists of needs are read,
if they slack-jawed try to sell you the rinds
since they aren’t sure yet just what you might be–
give two short snorts and breathe fire from your chest–
You may not appear what they know/expect,
but you aren’t theirs’ to name, to refuse, or
reject. Go gather the good cuts for which
you came in. Take the longer way home and
run–mud on your fur, feel wind on your skin.
Katy Santiff has written poetry in various forms all her life. She believes in densely-packed poems, preferring them to be mouthfuls when read aloud. A lifelong Marylander, she loves water-side living. She currently lives in Edgewater, Maryland with her wife. Her published poems can be found in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine and Spillwords Press.