She has a horse-face, you know, and she
is very bad at faking nice. She thinks she is good at it,
but I am a consummate actress, and it is obvious that she is not.
But nevertheless, you think she’s one of those Good People,
and when she whinnies, there you run, with a bucket of slop
you’ve mixed by hand, with just the right amount of spirulina.
You look into those dark eyes and see her smiling at your world,
and then you sigh as you scrape the crap out of her iron shoes
with that red-handled hoofpick she gave you.