Stick horses

We rode together on wood molding
dad had not used for dining room wall --

spirited knotty-pine appaloosas --
eight-year-old team of do-gooders

snaking through trails of flowerbed,
garden, lawn. Leather shoelaces

as reins, toy pistols strapped on,
red bandanas around necks,

we never got bucked off
on patrol of weed-covered lots,

bandits caught in thicket, jailed
in shed just before we were sent

to bed. I cried all night when my pony
became a baseboard in the den.

Timothy Pilgrim