Landscape

Two police people fold bridles Into an open box There is a fun fair going on I ask Can a bridle be folded? Hung, yes But you’d want to keep the threads The pieces Apart There usually would be a stable girl for that The police may not have experience With bridles tangling up The police people are wearing black jodhpurs On their tops are bullet proof vests And what I can only assume Are bullet proof riding hats They arе top heavy The legs likе spiders’ Look, I laugh What, I say If a horse were to gallop off I twirl a stick at the funfair And the funfair tempts me in A white poker Candyfloss A ride is worth nothing more than a ride Says my brain The wind whipping The knotting Note the horses tied around the edge The bashfulness of the kids The cleanliness of the mane, the plaits The gloves used to hold the reigns The smallest comb would be needed And eventually scissors Ribbons A chisel for her feet I feel synthetically free As the ride rotates The funfair is without conflict, I thought Rotations, I thought Was a word used at work Meaning to shift and resolve Actually meaning to sever order New rotations A cover for all sins I’m rotating out of a difficult spell A sticky patch With areas of bog that flash with loose change Tent pegs braced in the face of wind And on all sides A cordon made of beasts