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When the favourite bled
at the 400
covering it's hoop's silks
with blood
an old feller
staring up at the monitor
tumbled back
smashing his head
on the ticket bench
knocking himself out
and his blood splattered
all of us standing there
- our clothes
our faces -
but we hardly gave it notice
until the race was run
and lost
and nobody
had no-place
else
to look.
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