The kick from your horse hurt like hell;
he launched his hind hoof, lightening fast,
meant for my horse, but not aimed well.
He broke my foot, I’m in a cast.
When we slowed, you turned and asked
why was I swearing on the trail?
First, fill a margarita glass.
Make it strong. Your horse is for sale.
Prompt: dVerse for the form called huitain. This is a specific syllable and rhyme form, neither easy things for me. Good for me? yes. Do I like them? no. The poem is loosely based on fact: my husband’s horse, Flash, kicked and broke my foot while we were having a lovely canter (on vacation, no less). I did ask for a margarita immediately after. I did not ask my husband to sell his horse. That would break his heart.