blog of poet, leah umansky

It isn’t a myth. All stories are based in truth, so I’m gonna tell you.

There were two horses:  Carl and Hans.  Carl came from the air.

No one knew his whereabouts; no one cared. He was a good horse.

He held magic in his hooves.  If that horse bled, it bled gold.   Hans

was a thoroughbred. He came from tradition. He came from hay.

[Haystacks, so high, you wouldn’t believe] He bled oats; he bled

blue ribbons. Together, the two made something metropolis. Before

anyone knew it, they were brushing their manes like Hans, and if

Carl said you needed plaid horseshoes, you better believe you got

yourself not one, but two pair. They captured this town by taking

the lead, and made it a little Ungashtupt. No one had ever seen

anything like it. They turned stables to skyrises. Then, they took off

the blinders, and saw. They saw The World, and it was their Apple.

They made this city; they made you and I. And we’ll carry their

banner into the dawn, into the New Age.

© 2013 Umansky