Blinkers

The horses were talking in the paddock
one was nickering, one was answering

One more run, one last race
the horse with a green cap
and a white blaze down his nose
fitted for blinkers

Nine races down, one left at Saratoga

The dirt, the gate
the first mile, the far turn
the stretch, the wire

The test in the morning
the morning in the notebook
the handlers smoking quietly in the barn