I take a deep breath,

and give her some space.

I see a small flinch,

I’m too close to her face.

Deftly dance back,

give her some room

I’ll ask her quite gently if

it’s okay to groom

her gorgeous brown bottom,

taut as a breeze,

just waiting to blow.

Past.

Future.

She’s out on the grass.

My gelding has returned

to the turnout and now

I return to fetch her.

No reluctance.

She greets me and places

her face in the halter.

Polite yields polite.

Sometimes I wish

that I were her

daughter.