After the flood, the horses danced.
The horses pranced, jostled, bustled, hustled,
for they had chanced upon a new skill.
They reared on hind legs, wiggled their behinds;
out-Checkered Chubby doin’ the twist –
truly, I say, a sight not to be missed.
I’m sad to report the cart horses were clunky,
but all of the ponies surprisingly funky.
A piebald named Chunky writhed like a monkey
and persuaded the foals to pogo like punks.
An old appaloosa got loose in the town;
he line-danced his way up; he line-danced his way down.
He hopped, skipped and jumped, capered and bumped.
He chased away frowns from folk all around.
Those walking by stopped.
They stared, of course: who wouldn’t gawk at a dancing horse?
Wherever heads turned, mares jounced, stallions jiggled.
Soon, a strange feeling niggled at the gloomy crowd:
despite the flood, those horses weren’t down;
those horses were happy, peppy and chippy; not stroppy,
not drippy, but top-hole and zippy.
Smiles came to sad faces all over the place
as they eyed equine waltzes, tangos and jitterbugs;
jumps, leaps and rhumbas; congas and struts.
Children giggled; adults laughed;
all were charmed, all entranced
when, after the flood, the horses danced.
First published in Where For Art Thou? (2010)
Be Kind to Animals Week