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Title: The Electric Carousel Horse
Author: William Newton
Outside the supermarket,
On a bit of Oxford Road
Just past the place you chundered
That kebab not long ago,
There stands a lonely stallion
With a gleaming pastel sheen -
A horse without a rider, yet
With no funereal mien.
Rosebuds edge his saddle,
And ribbons trim his ears;
His tale and mane are curled in
Riffled ringlet revières.
Beneath the bright green awning
He in equine pose bolts forth.
Which is all the more pathetic
As he's bolted to the earth.
Transfixed through moulded middle,
He cannot leave his spot -
Skewered by a plastic Maypole
To entertain the tiny tots.
Parents dump their whining kiddies
On the bronco brummogem
(Why keep your children quiet
When you can coddle them?)
For fifty pence he struggles
To tear himself away
In pointless undulation -
A Prometheus who neighs.
But unlike the cursèd Titan
A plastic pony feels no pain.
Plus he's rather a good place to sit
And smoke out of the rain.

 
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