Do you remember, too?

Rag & Bone

There's a time I would rush
from the other side of the house
just to see the horse walk past,
blinkered and dusted with graft.
I envied the boy, dressed in shorts
and a white shirt, riding up front
with his legs dangling as cars shined past.
I envy him now, as I'm sure he does
his past, for I haven't seen a team like that
in as many years as I can think.
The rags, the bones, gained worth
and the pony's services too risky
in the cloying fumes of summer.
I would find something for them, now,
if I were to hear their holler.
I would offer my own bones, perhaps, as something
they could try and sell for profit
from the back of the wagon.