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THE RACE (poem 92)

by Vivian Chinelli


I’m drugged by my master to make me go faster, to win the race and save face. 
I get kicks on my sides and a whip on my back. Moving down the track to pass the other horses, my jockey forces me to speed, to feed his greed for greenbacks. 
It’s torture - I am used and abused, my psyche confused.  They scream and they yell.  If there were a horse hell, this would be it.  I want to quit but they won’t let me. 
The human race loves to find a first-place winner and back it.  It’s a money-making racket, using me as a pawn from dusk to dawn to earn and turn a profit. 
When I get hurt, they drug me again, so I won’t feel the pain.  That’s insane because my injuries only get worse.  What a curse that I was born me. 
Did you know ...
in nature my mother would give birth to my brother with two years between us to give her a break?  But in captivity, this activity is not natural but forced by humans who exploit a horse for the winnings, of course.
And so, a mare must “stand for a stallion” each year with no rest, in hopes she delivers a winner, THE BEST! 
Will you stand for this?! 
Finally, when we break a leg, we’re immediately unemployed and “destroyed” by injection.  No resurrection. 
Can you morally support such a sport?  I hope not. 
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