An Evening with Guy Mclean

Edwina Hare

Deniliquin, Australia

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Artist's Description

The Horse’s Slave by Guy Mclean

It’s said the horse was born to aid mankind
To work to slave and toil
To carry man from dawn till dusk
To plough and till the soil.

Bred for his obedience
His strength and honest power
Bred to toil for profit
For many countless hours.

Well that may have been true in eon’s past
Like the drawings found in caves
But I believe it’s time we all admit
That us humans are the slaves

We’re the ones that rise before the sun
Not from want, but need
We trudge out through the mud and slush
To give the days first feed.

We remove the rugs and fix the fences
Clean the sludge from water troughs
While our gallant workaholic steed
He just stands and scoffs…

… down the oats and chaff and barley
A menu fit for Kings
And though our stomachs groan and rumble
We’re occupied by other things.

Like the hose torn from its fitting
Where the teeth marks left their toll
And you wish you were addicted
Not to horses, but to bowls.

As you stand upon that left front shoe
That was nailed on yesterday
And you ponder how expensive fuel
Still costs less than the hay…

…that your horse treats like a litter box
Turning Lucerne into mud
But you still just smile and pat him
Then recoil at sight of blood…

…where he got tangled in that horse proof fence
That cost more than your car
Then you shudder at the vet bill
But shudder more at thought of scar.

Then once the wound is healed and sound
And you’ve averted heart attack
You get the bills for dentistry
And Bowen Therapy for his back.

His trailer’s nicer than your living room
His blanket’s softer than your doonah
And he’s the reason that you’re drinking tea
And can’t afford that Schooner.
And you toil at work for a hellish week
But that one hour a day you’ve craved
On the weekend makes it worth it
So once again, just who’s the slave?
We clean his stable, oil his saddle
Fix his rugs and comb his tail
And while he’s looking like an Equine Prince
We’re looking weak and pale.

But we don’t go to the doctors
Or buy those fancy vitamins
We spend our dough on protective boots
To shield his delicate shins.

He has four rugs in the winter
While our jumper’s full of holes
His shoes are set each start of month
While our shoes have broken souls.

In our cupboards there’s no Panadol
Just a shelf stacked high with ‘Bute’
And our luxury family sedan
Is a hay filled smelly ute.

Though we toil each day to earn the cash
To throw at Equine whim
We’ll never waste it on unneeded things
Like a haircut or a trim.

We’ll just pull down our Akubra’s
Cover up unruly hair
Because our horse will love us anyway
For he truly doesn’t care…

…what kind of car we’re driving
Or if we’re filthy rich with loot
He only thinks of feed bags
That we’ve got there in the boot.

Where would we be without our horse’s
That’s right, by our Mansion on our Yacht
With Gucci suit and Croc skin handbag
But us left horseless, we’d lose the plot.

For regardless of our lot in life
They relieve our stress and treat us swell
Which when you think of all we do
It’s just as flaming well.

But if horses run within your blood
And it’s their company you crave
Be prepared for fun and joyful times
But be prepared to be their slave.


blur dark horse

Artwork Comments

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