Bareback

I was made to mount
a horse without stirrups.
No need of stump or fence rail,
just swung a leg up and over easily
as a man would his wife.

Pointed my nose
to chosen horizon,
let horse sense intention
in twist of spine,
grasp of calves.

Just thought turn or slow
and the horse did
as if its legs were my own.

Grabbed fast to mane,
leaned hard and flew.
Let the pleasure throb of gallop
resound through my bones,
echo from throat:
grunt of familiar thrill.

Never griped about
tetchy mares, spunky yearlings.
Moaned over chapped ass,
balls ridden red-raw.

Riding my only chance
to act captain,
steer my course.