Horse and Cart
Years later he played a game with me,
A subtle, deadly game of revenge.
But either way, I was not to blame
For what happened to his 'Angel’,
His beautiful long-haired daughter.
Many years ago when I was an electrician,
During a long cold winter, he called
Repeatedly at the house where I was staying,
And where he too had once lived,
And asked me to get a fireguard
For the small one-bar electric fire
That stood in a corner unused.
It was a model long out of date,
The smallest electric fire I had ever seen,
Which proved impossible to find a guard for.
But one day when I was out, he took it.
We were all poor in those days
And he desperately needed it
To keep his family warm at Christmas Time.
What happened to 'Angel’ in her long nightgown
Was truly a terrible tragedy.
Thirty year later I heard he was a craftsman,
A master wood carver of ornaments,
Of horse and carts. So I went to see him.
He was friendly and invited me in.
His home was full of beautifully carved
Wooden animals, birds, horses, dogs and foxes.
In his workroom he showed me a horse and cart
He was making for someone.
I ordered one from him, and he said
It would be ready before Christmas,
That I should keep visiting to see if it was finished.
I called three or four times, and each time
He said it would be ready the next time,
Right up to Christmas Eve, when he said
Call back tomorrow, it will be ready then.
Of course, I did not call back,
I was stunned by his ingenuity, his deceit.
He still blamed me for 'Angel’s death,
His daughter who, thankfully, I had never seen,
But had nightmares about how she died.
Life had been rewound for me,
And I felt I had been trampled on,
Stampeded by a horse and cart.
June 2017.
Copyright by D. J. Brennan, Derbyshire.
