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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Contest · #664070
An orchestrated, ill-fated race at Saratoga, New York.
The shadow of a conductor’s baton
falls across the carefully orchestrated
concerto of Saratoga stallions...

         falls over racecourse soil
         soft as moss sonata,

         falls upon the rhythm of a
         valiantly galloped arpeggio,

         falls with the
         resonant reminder
         to reach a winning pitch,


at the top of the stretch,
tangling into sudden stumble,
snapping string
on expensive equine instrument.

The tempo is

A grandstand chorale quits the Ode to Joy,
transposing, minor, into Requiem
as if directed by sudden, distant sirens.

Levitated quietly
onto gentle strangers'
swinging stretchers, horse and rider
harmonize - an effortless, metronomed
coda won equally by each
in fated photo finish.

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