The Sport Of Kings Poem by Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler
The Sport Of Kings
I hate the horse races
Except when I'm winning
But it's always a bad sign when
Your horse starts strong and leads
The pack from the gate
He almost always falls behind by the time
He reaches the last straight-away
And the horse that started last
Gallops thru the group like his
Hooves are on fire
While his jockey whips his ass
All the way to the finish line
She left her overnight bag at my place
Where we drank a bit and horsed around
Before we left to meet up with her friends
I paced myself through the liquor cabinet
To be sure I’d be ready for an early morning romp
When we got back home
She had been talking all night to this
Thick-necked dude who got there late
With broader shoulders stronger haunches and a shinier mane
When one of her pals discreetly handed off a rubber like
They had just made a cocaine deal
I rolled my eyes and slugged
What was left in my glass
The last thing I remember that night before I blacked out:
I saw her leave with him
And slap his ass on their way
Out the door
She called me from his place the next afternoon
Audibly hungover and slightly out of breath
Her overnight bag still sat at the foot of my bed
She said she hoped I wasn’t mad
And I honestly wasn’t
We both knew this horse wouldn’t
Win, place or show
a fine read, with great comparrisons between the horse racing and the second stanza, with great reference to Bukowki. The poem flows well and grabs the attention of the reader straight away. The ending ties the two stanza's together. by the way love the line about the exchanging of condoms like a cocaine deal. your poetry is real and deals with the goings on in everyday life, but you manage by use of your words, and imagination make it so much more appealing and approachable. Best wishes Robin
Full of top drawer visual ingredients blended with a sizeable charge of honesty and poetic grace. First rate writing..
Terrific write. Liked the ending/theme. Good thing you didn't have any money riding on this one. - chuck
Superb write! ! I knew Masha would be lurking and jump on this horsie for a gallop or two ; -) > Bukowski shmakowski. It is a hassler, and a fine one at that. George, laying in the wet clay and mud after being thrown by the fillie
I was never big on Bukoswki but i really like the structure - first you set up the metaphor and then tell the story, its deep but enjoyable at the same time. Ouch on the subject matter tho, really hope it's a work of fiction. Good to have you back on the horse and in the race, Jake
Definitely Bukowski-esque. A fine read, the comparisons spot on with quite the lost-love where did it go? kind of ending. Much enjoyed and nice to see the block has absolved itself, Jake!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 11:42:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Hey, I just put down a wad of green on you as an outsider for the Pulitzer Stakes..you're back on form, Jake. Reckon the Lovelorn Stakes should suit you, the going's rough but firm...