I have no horse! I have no horse!

cries Eric sitting on the porch
of the Twin Maples Retirement Home 

and it’s a fine spring day, 
I am walking to the playground 
when I stop to hear this, 
the most profound moment our town 
has seen since the ice-cream truck 
adopted a rendition of Stephen Foster’s 
Oh! Susanna

the profundity of which should be apparent
to all those who linger in blissful repose 
over the sad lives of great forgotten men 

I have no horse! I have no horse!

Eric behaves as one does
after a beheadment 

and I love the ology of it 
and the ism of his cry 

I love the ology of clouds

and the ism of rain too

but not as specifically as
I love Eric, who seeks his red rose 
in the fume of the moment 

his mouth oily and explosive,
wide open, waiting for someone 
to throw a few peanuts in 

God has made some pretty weird comments
in his time, about the nature of human 
life and all of that, naturally 
they are profound 

but somehow they seem like a morbid imitation
compared to Eric’s 

and even if he goes back centuries
every time he gets stewed

like the wildflowers who wither on the shore
far from our native glen 

I sigh for Eric, who I unanswered,
I sigh for Eric who once had light brown hair. 

as I swing 
floating like a vapor 
on the soft-spoken air

I have no idea where I found this poem. If anyone knows the poet, let me know. I would love to read more of this poet’s work.

Check out other work in the Strange Faces Other Minds series.