by Auston Jubb

Created on: November 08, 2009

Sounding the Silent Trump

The horse was battered far beyond death,

and yet

both parties stood on opposites sides,

faces stern and serious, some angry, flogging in futility.

It was a reticent passerby who recognized the scene for what it was.

He didn't yell,

didn't wave his arms and point fingers

or attempt to point out absurdities.

Instead he pictured in his mind (the safest place he knew),

both parties laying down their clubs,

nodding at one-another,

and shaking hands.

He smirked at his own hopeless romanticism,

smiled at the mob, and walked on.

Though both parties were probably oblivious to him, eyes too fixated and mouths too loud;

when he returned home he hid his horse.

He brewed a pot of tea should anyone get a sore throat.

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