Fortune Teller Farrier                                                               

Trimming hooves
at the long shadow time.

Don't pull back, put your
chestnut in mine.

See these deep grooves
there's work to be done.

You're not making contact my son,
more balanced from stone to stone.

Hold still, I’ll trim this flap
of dead dew, phew!

Your central groove
is tight as a screw driver is high.

Unlike the palm reader I
can smooth the edges

off your sole, turning
but touching the rasp

in a way I cannot say, how often
I should taper your white line,

your dirt line,your soft feathered edges.
Flop your hind leg over mine.

Some black beans never leave Mexico.


This poem is dedicated to Lisl, with thanks.