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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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