Somnolence
By Kane McDermott
Leaning against the stall door,
my eyes fixated on the dry dirt beneath me.
I can smell the dust diluted by the hot summer’s air,
yet still managing to irritate my eyes
until they become shallow swimming pools.
I look up at the ceiling of the barn.
Hollow space between the long wooden beams,
resembling the skeleton of an unfinished 17th century warship.
The ceiling fans, too high up and too slow to offer
any real relief from the dry heat, begin to dizzy me.
Sharp pieces of wood shavings, straw, and hay,
nestle tight between my itchy sock and sweaty skin.
My fingers curl up as I try to endure the constant
pricking on my feet. Stab after stab the particles in my shoe
evoke the fist-tightening feeling of anti-comfort.
I take a seat on a plastic bucket alone with my thoughts.
The sun touches my face through an opening in the ceiling.
I rest my eyes.
A thud,
like a shotgun’s shout,
is heard throughout the barn.
My eyelids flick open as quickly as nature allows. Clyde must
be kicking the walls again. I stand up and look into his stall
as the gray standardbred rears up and strikes his hooves in the air
before descending back to the ground. I notice a welt on the
colt’s rear while he paces around his stall.
I walk away only to hear another thud from his stall.
The colt continues to kick the battered wooden walls.
I spot a large fly as it returns to the scene of the crime
where it ripped into the flesh of the horse to expose its
thick, warm clotting blood.
The persistent insect hovers around the colt,
surveying the bloody feeding hole it has created.
Patiently waiting for its chance to return to the feast
unwillingly cooked by the horse.
The fly’s patience is rewarded
Finally, there’s an opening and the fly lands on the extraction point.
Cozied up in the matted fur the fly leisurely enjoys its meal,
until the long coarse tail of the colt wraps round the side of its
own rear to swat the
blood bloated fly
with the motion of a towel in a locker room.
The piercing stabs from the fly stop.
The kicking stops. The fly is denied half of its meal,
while the horse takes a sigh of relief.
Feeling victorious he takes a sip from his blue, sun faded,
water bucket. All is quiet as the dust settles in the barn.
I’d forgotten about the straw in my shoe.
I reach down and clean it out.
KANE ANTHONY 