Racing is Abandoned

There will be no more racing at the dog track
The earnest galloping of stick bone limbs is done

All the angled trilby hats and rattling charm bracelets

The coated kennel maids and deft bookmakers

Fill their Thursday evenings elsewhere


The Tote windows look on a more literal empty

The money rattles in the deepest of pockets


High fireweed and spread arm buddleia race

To colonise the track remains

Until the six lanes of Tarmac choke


The race to a standstill starts here


Inspiration: " Seance on a Wet Afternoon" (1964, Bryan Forbes)


Have you ever wondered, "What Would Margaret Rutherford do?"

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