It was my seventh birthday in 1964
when my parents surprised me
with a pony of my own
named Patches
Gentled by my cousin Lynn
And corralled at the back end
of our end-of-the-lane acreage
This black-and-white pinto
I am told
walked softly and carefully
With me in the saddle.
My pony was my pride
For several months
But we moved before year’s end
To urban St. Louis
And I would not ride again
For several decades.
As for my father
I have no memories
Of him on horseback
Or with any interest in horses
Except for a home movie
From before my birth
Of him and my mother
Riding horses at Lake Louise.
