Circus Pony
Each evening after school you met
like lovers. You angled offerings
through the tired wire fence –
she accepted as the air accepts.
Among the traffic fumes and concrete,
her heavy eyes and warm saluting breath
became your fireside.
Every night you dreamed her
in the spotlight, all small girls
carried on her back, prettily
tramping the ring, high-kicking
over flames to gasps and applause
and for a finale leaping into darkness,
away from the crowds, the beatings.
And when you ran away at last,
north to the gleaming Fens,
you took a husband and a newborn
to be safe. Routines followed. Years
lost like old flames. Chosen
and not chosen became pathways.
Fences were your tightrope.
And when the circus came,
you took your daughter to the fence
to see the ponies waiting – wanting
her to sense that you had stood
daily by a tired wire fence,
calming the soft nose of a pony,
patient, headstrong, poised to bolt.