On our way into
Santa Anita one day,
an old man had tipped
over in his wheelchair.
There was a pool of blood
beneath his smooth head.
I was with my Dad.
He was around the same
age as the poor injured man.
I was 12.
Seeing that man, and watching
the blank stares of the apathetic
crowd gathering around the
man, and the blood, and the
fallen wheelchair, I knew that
nobody would win, and the
horses that ran were the luckiest
of us all.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline)
- Published: June 17th, 2025 14:11
- Comment from author about the poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tpMDoNXg_U Here is a link to my YouTube channel where I read from my recently published books. They are on Amazon.com Sleep Always Calls, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse. www.thomaswcase.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 68
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15
Comments9
This poem through analogy makes a powerful statement about humanity. Well done Thomas
Thank you.
A strong write on so called humanity and all its glory!!!, nicely expressed and written
Thanks
You are very welcome
That last stanza! Chef's kiss! Such a powerful memory/observation. Well done, .Thomas! 🌹👏
Thank you.
You are most welcome!
A powerful piece, Thomas. Such striking imagery, and the last line was just brilliant.
Thanks
Superb.
Thanks
Welcome
This brought me back to the 80's when I worked at the Fair Grounds in New Orleans. Someone had a heart attack right as the race went off and most of the gamblers chose to watch the race instead of the man in crisis.
Thanks
Wonderful. 🌹
Thank you, Sweet Teddy.
Wow
Ty
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