“Carousel” by Rex Sexton

I get up at noon, come here,
sit in my corner, drink beer,
eat lunch, scan the scratch
sheet for a score, call my bookie,
drink more, nail a winner, stay
for dinner, chat with the regulars,
all of us stuck in life's rut hoping
for some luck, work out the kinks
in my system, recording odds,
jockeys, track conditions, linger
through the evening, bolt down a
stiff one before leaving, go home,
go to bed, dream about horses,
wild, free, furious horses, like
storm clouds driven by the wind
as they race down the track
never looking back.