The merciless heat

turned the earth to dust,

kicked up

by the horses and

mingled with the sweat of

his audience,

men increasingly inebriated.

He approached the bare backed stallion

which kicked and flailed around.

The smells around me

overpowered; roasting chilies

and garlic, manure

and tequila.

In the distance,

I could hear stray dogs barking;

the tinny sound of a band

playing on rudimentary

guitars and flutes,

bulls snorting and

children screaming.

As it arched its back,

nostrils flaring, whinnying

its distress,

kicking its back legs,

twisting from side to side

sending up clouds of dust,

Jacques mounted the stallion.

Jacques held firmly onto

the reins as

the stallion pitched and

yawed, spinning around.

I feared

all my husband’s

bones would shatter.

The stallion finally stopped kicking,

exhausted,

accepted his load.

Jacques dismounted gracefully

holding the horse’s

sensitive ear, to show

he still had control.

He muttered thanks

that the horse did not

kick him

while holding onto the strap

around the horse’s middle

and let go.

His campesino friends

cheered,

whooped and clapped

as he walked away.