I live far, far away in a cold, cold cave.
Curled up, warmed by a horse’s breath.
Knowing that, in the morning, I will ride out on my mount
and look down at passers by, feeling smug.
Pitying them for their dull routines and their
motorised lives, as women and men – both –
drone on and on, robotically and relentlessly
pursuing the goals of the other people.
I know, of course, that nothing passes by.
That neither the cars, or the here people, move.
The view, below, stays forever static – and
un-moving. A glitch in the program, a stitch
holding strong. The here people glued to the
Shrewsbury ghost road. Empty white sheets
frozen fast to the line. Elated – and still smug –
I wrap my arms around Beezlebub’s neck and
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, The Silly-Savvy Salopian, February 2019
Inspired by the poem ‘Vanishment’, by Jordan Rice.
‘Beezlebub’ is a reference to the horse that accompanied my ancestor, Sir Humphrey Kynaston (notorious outlaw) of Kynaston’s Cave, Nesscliffe, Shropshire.