daydreams

I smell the things he eats on his rank breath.
The predator that's clinging to my back
can't know I fantasize about his death,
each time I'm called from pasture to take tack.
Domestication's not all bad, I know.
We used to live in fear of wolves, and bears.
Extinction's a much tougher row to hoe;
too many species are no longer here.
But bonding with new strangers every week
--each acting like I owe something to him--
presumes that I'm consistently so meek
that I'm enthusiastic for his whim.
These city-slickers staying at Dude Ranches
smash gratifyingly on low-slung branches.