Brought up to the gate
to stand there, wonder and wait
what is the purpose of all this
smooth raked soil, spacious club
fingers pointing across the green
better’s crystal clinking chimes
liquor with lime, part of some machine
wanting to gallop, spur to a fast gait
away, leave questions, wagers and doubts
behind, to be it, live before the open track
free of bridle, blinders and bit.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
October 15, 2012
Over Costa Rica