If I Win This Race

If I win the race

I will get to wear a wreath

Like, around my neck

With flowers in it

The most beautiful flowers

And I will smell them

And they will smell like victory

Which is a smell you do not smell often

As a horse

Certainly not as a barn house

That’s for sure

That’s definitely for sure

If I win the race

I will get to wear the wreath

And nobody else will

Not even my rider

Or my owner

Or groomer

Or anybody

Because they gets their own wreaths

Or medals

Or trophies

Or whatever

But the wreath is all mine

If I win the race

People will cheer

And take my picture

And want to pet me

But they will not be allowed to

Pet me, I mean

Some will

For the good of the pictures

Small children

And maybe an old lady

But for the most part

No petting will be allowed

Because I am not a pony

I am a horse

A racehorse

A racehorse who wins races

And so I am respected

And revered

And really, really cool

All the other horses will envy me

Which is—

NOT the reason to win races

But it’s—not a bad thing either

Horses—racehorses, I mean—can be very cruel

To other racehorses

And there’s a reason for that

We race side-by-side

And if, in a moment,

You think to yourself

This horse next to me

Is my friend

This horse next to me

Is trying so hard

And is still not going to win

This horse next to me

NEEDS to win

Or else there will be

Conversations

About what to do

With this horse

This racehorse who can’t win races

And those thoughts

About your friend

Your friend the other racehorse

Those thoughts will cloud your judgment

And you will lose the race

And your friend might feel badly for you

But they will not have let how they felt in the moment

Cloud their judgment

Their judgment will be clear

Crystal clear

And the only thing they’ll be judging

Is the distance from where they are

To the finish line

And so we don’t have to be friends

Or like each other

Or even be civil to each other

And that is not only acceptable

It is encouraged

Because it will make us better

At what we do

At who we are

At where we want to be

You know, in our lives

In our careers

As racehorses

It…

If I win this race, I will get treats

And treatment—special treatment

Back at the barn

I will be spoken softly to

I will be lovingly brushed and combed

I will be cared for with tenderness

And compassion

And if I don’t win…

I will not be harmed

But, well…I will not be loved either

I will be returned to the barn

I will be fed

I will be washed

I will be patted, kindly

But with no real affection

I will not be a winner

And so I will not be treated as such

And who can blame the people

The people who don’t love me

Why should they?

They can only love a winner

They don’t know how to love anything else

It’s not their fault

If I win this race

When I am old

Much older

And ready to pass away

I will remember the moment

Of crossing the finish line

Ahead of all the other racehorses

I will relive it, over and over

Until I close my eyes for the last time

The crowd screaming

The cameras flashing

The sound of my rider’s voice

Yelling ‘Yes!  Yes!  Yes!’

I will take that with me

Knowing that other horses

Horses who aren’t racehorses

Leave their lives with nothing of the sort

Nothing like that

To soothe them in their final moments

On this earth

Perhaps they have owners

And groomers

And riders

Who have them

And ride them

Just for fun, but…

But they’re not winners

And so they cannot be loved

Like winners

And that…

That is what I’ll have

That special sort of love

As long as I win this race