What would it have been like if your life had turned out the way you wanted when you were a kid?
Sundappled Sunday on left and right coasts,
Griffith Park to
I rode a painted pony in the sand.
Saddle slapping tender in-thighs,
I endured your stings.
Silent father shouting
At distant mother
Riding roughshod on a tender mare.
Slow stumble upon whip-worn trails,
Round and round
We go again.
Sundappled, Sunday ponies;
Perfectly painted; ready to ride.