Heads low, grass-cropping idle
under the olive trees
undressed of reins, saddle, bridle
inoffensive as sheep, yet these
were the flesh-tearing hooves
under which we fell; the fused halves
of the mounted-monster man-horse, ancient
oppressor raised tall above us.
In the mind indelible. Imprint
of those days.
When there were protests, always
they brought out the horses.
BY CONNIE FRAZER
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