COLE MASH

2.0 CelsiusFour horses approached a green. Blanketed.Chewing no steel. Sunburnt. The Green was again green again.The Green was long green. Stretching and yawningall the way to blue and brown. Riders had been thrown, decades gone.A large brick of salt rose from the earth. The lightning,the rain, the dandelions all signed the treaty—broke ground together.The door would be closed. No one would type up any notesor post any pictures and most agreed it was the way.The last flagpole was melted down. The horses snortedAnd kicked up their hooves, going each their own.The Green was ready to get back at it.And after so long laid up in bed—even though the rocks in the field were so hot now—thankful again to have a steady paycheck.
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