August Monday, long ago
horse racing at Port Mourant,
a couple friends and I showed up
one to watch the horses run
and two to view the pulchritude.
A late addition to the card
allegedly by popular demand,
inserted was a donkey race,
which is all I still remember
for the comedy it produced.
Ten, twelve donkeys at the start
bareback jockeys as their mounts.
When the starter pulled the trigger
the donkeys scattered all asunder
save for two that stood their ground.
The fastest one ambled slowly
in a direction somewhat of the track
and got nearly halfway down the field
before it stopped, then turned back,
to join the two that hadn’t budged.
Someone in the crowd observed
that it was an imposter in the farce
asserting that it was neither jackass
nor a horse; instead it was a mule,
a cross of a donkey and a horse.
None of the starters neared the tape,
they covered three sixty of the compass,
their jockeys using graphic language
for which their mothers duly promised
to cleanse their mouths with carbolic soap.
Don’t know if a winner was declared
but the experience served me well;
the shortest distance might be radial,
affirmed when I saw my first crab race
where a circle marked the winning line.
Tulsi Dyal Singh, MD
Midland, Texas, USA.