John Bensko
The Wild Horses of Assateague Island
Although the sign says
Do not feed the horses,
my husband cannot help admiring
their docile looks, the delicate size
of their bodies, and the ease
with which they nibble
the crackers from his hands.
He says: Why waste stale crackers
when the least we can do
is make friends?
They lean across the picnic table
and stretch their lips.
Losing its fear, a small herd
drifts across the road toward us.
From behind the dunes
A string of ten or twelve
breaks into a run.
The car, he says, run for it!
The home movie later shows
tongues licking the windows,
lips and teeth caressing
the hood. My husband’s mouth opens.
He is saying: Sign? What sign?
Under the perspective
of wild brown eyes peering in.
From
The Waterman’s Children, copyright University of