Horseshoes and hand grenades

Horseshoes and hand grenades.

Hitch your horse to my wagon. 

I lure you with fresh feed and a warm barn

so when my whip cracks against your flank,

blood seeping down your muscles

you think it’s a fly. 

Hitch your horse to my wagon,

wear these blinders. 

Race ahead with the grit and vigor of a champion. 

You won’t see the grenade go off,

or feel the explosion as it rips legs from your body

and bloody horseshoes clatter to the ground. 

by Kara Rowan, The Hustle Horrors Series

For more information on The Hustle Horrors Series, click here.

This poem is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or companies is purely coincidental.