Naptime

Casey boy,
As you cope with REM-sleep flux 
Are you chasing Frisbees, on your terms,
Executing airborne 180s?

Or eye-balling a half-ton of buckskin, haunches high,
Crouching for an imagined nip of heel or toe,
In awe that the filly pays you any attention at all.

Is Sally impressed with maternal pride,
As you shadow her moves in perfect harmony,
Her lea wingman encircling foals and yearlings?

Do you miss her today, boy?
Or are you just dreaming of a romp through the greenbelt?
Come on, wake up, kiddo. Let’s go find that squirrel.