Sometimes I’m struck with something to write and I must stop what I’m doing and get it down in the moment, otherwise I’ll lose the thought altogether. That is how this poem came to be. I was cleaning Gangster’s stall, thinking about my messy hair shoved under a hat, my warm scarf slightly choking me, and my puffy red jacket pulling the whole outfit together in something that looked more like “Got dressed in the dark,” than “Moderately talented horsewoman.” How come you never see those crazy barn looks on Instagram? I only ever see piles of turquoise on crisp-collared shirts without a speck of hay. So it is with these thoughts in mind that I give you the below poem.
Makeup Off, Spurs On
I’m a little leery of anyone who looks too good while riding
Lipstick smear-free
Hair perfectly coifed
Clothes styled straight out of a magazine.
Because that’s rarely how I look.
And I’d like to believe I didn’t spend much time on my face
Because I’m spending the time on my riding.
Makeup off.
Spurs on.
Ready to work.
No trendy vest and wild rag,
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And I can get warmer at a posting trot.
No long luscious hair flying behind me,
I’d hate to untangle all those knots later.
But my circles look good.
Big and fast.
Small and slow.
If you compliment my riding
Over how I look
I’d like that better anyway.
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