W1775

W 1775

Wiggled one whisker and opened one eye

Half was dark earth and half was bright sky

He saw his mom stand and he thought he would try

But his legs couldn’t hold him; they thrashed all about

But little by little he figured it out

And by the end of his first day

He would follow his mom and they’d run

The spring it gave way and the summer set sail

And he ran and he played and he chased his mom’s tail

And the air was alive with the sting of cut grass

And that summer was like no one future or past

And then a truck pulled up painted green on the side

He jumped in the back and they went for a ride

South Of The Border on I-95

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(Break)

Winter training began and it was a breeze

Left front, right rear, just as crisp as you please

He felt the bit in his mouth, he felt the girth clinched tight

He felt the left line attached, and then felt the right

And the cart was snapped on, and the driver said go

And he trotted

If you find yourself lost in this world as it rots

Watch the gravel kicked sideways as a two-year-old trots

If it isn’t just glorious, lovely, and clean

Then my words can’t describe what your eyes haven’t seen

No my words can’t describe what your eyes haven’t seen

(Break)

When April came calling, he’d learned his job well

He’d handled his lessons, earned a toll of the bell

And eagerly North, the green truck, 95

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Every week faster and faster they’d go

1775 and his foe

They paired him with a filly, they trained them together And their velocity soared along with the weather

And the next time the truck came it was just he and his girl

No road trip this time, just a short little whirl

To a racetrack where forty short years ago

Forty thousand a night would clamor to go

And when he was hooked and set out on the track

He’d never been there before but he felt he was back

At home with the stone dust, the grandstand, the rail As happy as when he’d followed mom’s tail

And the starting car came and it opened its wings

Seven babies behind it, their tendons like springs

He put his nose on the gate like he’d always known how The only place here, and the only time now

And the gate sprung open, colors flew all around

Horses charged from both sides but he held his ground

And 1775 saw it all

And soon he was racing each week until fall

He didn’t win all his races but still he won plenty

Of ninety-six tries he won almost twenty

He wasn’t a champ but he paid his way

But once he turned eight, he lost a step then another

And one race was worse and was worse than the other

One day a man came to talk to the trainer

He said “do you have anything here who can’t beat a claimer”?

Hands in his pockets, averting his eyes

He said yes, W1775

But find him a good horse or at least a good job

He’s a hard-working horse and he can’t be robbed

Of the rest of his life that he earned while racing

The main said I’ll see what I can do with the placing

So under the tunnel, New Jersey, New York,

Where his great great grandsire worked through the great war

And life was so different, but no one else cared

Just a carriage horse now, not excited, not scared

Now the mornings were different, but he was the same,

Though when he was a racehorse he’d once had a name

Now he was just a number tattooed on his hide

W1775

And nobody raced, their carts heavy and slow,

But he learned every street, red for stop green for go

And the cars had no wings but there were people to meet

Kids’ feet not to step on, water troughs in the heat

He’d raced for six years, pulled a cariage for nine

And through those fifteen, his coat lost its shine

And the muscles so tense and so taut when he raced

Were tired and spent and lost and displaced

They called his old owner; could she give him a home

She said “we’ve always got a place for one of our own”

And the van shook and rattled, and the door was pulled down

Inviting him down to fresh grass and fresh ground

Inviting him down to  fresh grass and fresh ground

W1775

Wiggled one whisker and closed one eye

All was dark earth, gone the bright sky

But he felt a deep rest, why fight it, why try

He spent his life doing only things he’d been told

And he’d never decided on how to grow old

But he was never more than a length from fully alive

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