Petition

The creature that had once

been a man handed over his petition,

a stained and grimy scrap,

handed it to his lord and master,

a petition asking to be transferred

to the status of a horse.

You son-of-a-whore, the master,

kicking for good measure, bellowed.

What do you mean by this?

The creature that had once

been a man, having considered

deeply his petition, answered:

If I were a horse, I would have

one day off in ten. As is,

I have none. As a horse,

I could rest now and again

during work. As a former

man, I cannot. As a horse,

I would be expected to perform

work equal to my strength.

As a prisoner, I am always

hungry, and hungry, I

work less and get less

bread, so I can barely stand.

A horse gets a stable

and two blankets. I have

no blankets, no jacket.

If a driver beats

a horse too hard, he

is punished, for a horse

is precious. If the brigadiers

beat and kick me, it is like

beating a tree. So you see,

a prisoner is nothing here.

But a horse?

A horse is something!

Inside the frozen

and the broken

vista, the plea had a ring

of truth heard

even by the lord

and master, who had

previously been a man himself,

and who, when no other

former men could see,

attached that name

to the page, granting

the horse a stable and two blankets.