Some females jockey for whatever chance
us men afford them while they sit astride
our saddles. Primed with spurs that prick the hide
they wheedle us to gallop or to prance
past obstacles upon the happenstance
that they’ll decide to take us for a ride.
Forget that once dismounting us they chide
while changing from their jodhpurs into pants.
We’re happy after hurdles just to graze
while they wheel baby carriages with deft
maneuvers just beyond our bristling neighs.
And after grooming, when they loom bereft
of youth and looks, some bridled child obeys
the “whoa!” of any riding skills they’ve left.