Feeding Time

Originally written in 2005. A snapshot of the old barn that I used to belong to.

 The sweet dank smell,

of hay and manure great your nose.

The night’s are is nippy,

but inside it’s nice and warm.

 

Many horses come to the doors of their stalls,

eyes as eager as children at Christmas.

They all want one thing, and that is to ask

“Do you have treats?”

 

The light shake of grain in a metal can

diverts their attention.

Suddenly they are all neighing and

bobbing their heads eager for dinner.

 

The old rust wheelbarrow screeches forward,

each horse’s grain kept in it’s separate box.

The man feeds the horses

and one by one they all begin to eat.

 

They no longer know you’re still there.

The only thing that matters is that they have food.

The old wheelbarrow screeches away,

and not even that can disturb their mood.