The Charioteer Poem by Stephen Brian Brady

he sniffs the air
wood-smoke
already white noise

a charioteer on an early morning run

the wheels find familiar ruts
the traces take the strain

he leans and balances weight against the curves
through slits he sees
and the rhythm and sweat get to him
sweetness and salt

the chargers breast conformity and cry

as on the pavements edge
snails look up to vapour-trails
from jet-planes
flashing silver in the sky