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