I remember when I was
a rider of plastic ponies,
always Roy Rogers ready
on my spring-tethered steed.
A western white knight,
slamming black barts
safely behind bars.
Then riding down the trail
on my eater of imaginary
grass and grain.

Now, the trail stands
time-tethered, tied to
the mirror’s sagging leer,
marking all backward glance.
While memory, bent like a
question mark and hung with
sagging flesh, moves through
the mind, step on measured step,
fleeing the same persistent thought.

Time’s widespread rumor,
never far away, comes galloping,
chasing, reaching. While death is
the dust-shadow we all ride from.

———-
Ed Higgins and his wife live on a small farm in Yamhill, OR, raising a menagerie of animals including two whippets, a manx barn cat (who doesn’t care for the whippets), two Bourbon Red turkeys (King Strut and Nefer-Turkey) and a pair of alpacas named Machu & Picchu. He teaches creative writing and lit at George Fox University where he is Writer in Residence.