My husband says he wants a horse,
Which could
be reason for divorce.
That’s if
his wish were true, of course,
But it is
simply not.
His horse
fixation is a joke,
Though it’s been
years since he first spoke
Of owning
one; each little poke
Confirming he
forgot
That hobby
horse I gave him, which
I’d thought
would satisfy that itch.
Yet now he’s
on a brand-new pitch
To take
another shot.
We live in
New York city, though;
We have no
place for hay to stow
Nor land for
galloping, so whoa!
He can’t be
hot to trot.
The funny
part is knowing Mel
Would not,
upon a horse, do well.
He’ll hate
this poem, but I can tell
Deep down,
he knows what’s what.
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