Ironman flew
over a bridge
with stilts for legs
helmet like an eagle’s beak
piercing the horizon.
Streaking past graves
ancient as elements
but not so quick
that he missed burial stones
long charcoal tongues
lapping at the air
beating his face, his arms
the tight sinews of his legs.
On the bike
his gold event
the iron man’s spine
its concave bend
was hostile to hangers-on.
But after the race
he hurried home
to teach the boy
who could not sit
how to ride a horse.
In the barn
wood boards
peel with paint
rattle in the wind
a sandy floor
shifts its shape.
The sway of lights
shuffles their shadows like cards
a dark horse
almost trotting
his riding boy
and a man made from iron
who raced from another land
to lift the boy up
to drape his frame
over a gelding’s back.
On one side of the horse
the boy’s head dangles
on the other
his legs swing
toes pointing down.
It is his middle
that weighs
on the creature’s back.
Outside the arena
an explosion of air
crashes into
a flash of light.
The sky opens
rain beats
on a metal roof
and the boy stiffens.
His horse startles.
Another streak
across the atmosphere
and doubts
taunts
provocations
flood into the arena.
The boy cannot sit
on his horse.
He cannot ride.
But the steely hands
of an ironman
the metal of his arms
guide the boy
and his horse
in a victory loop
past burial stones
lapping at the air
like charcoal tongues.
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