Harry's Blues

by Darran Anderson

Harry was a horse doctor.
No need for it in the city though.
He worked for increasingly shady clients.
With his access he carved out a neat
sideline selling K.
You'd see his nightlight burning
fiddling away like an alchemist,
diluting the downers,
canonised as the patron saint of the hollow eyed
and the loose limbed.
One night a circus horse he tended
had an identity crisis
and went clean loco.
Drop-kicked and hooved
a clown’s ribcage into chalk,
somehow got into the kids enclosure.
It was horrible.
Harry's a mechanic now.
"Stay away from any
damned thing with a soul" he says.


© Darran Anderson

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Darran Anderson is the editor of Laika Poetry Review. His own work has appeared in Blatt, Poetry Salzburg Review, Deaddrunkdublin, Snorkel, The Bathyspheric Review, Like Water Burning and the Quarterly Literary Review of Singapore amongst others. He is currently working on a novel entitled All The World Is Blue, having recently completed his first collection of poetry Tesla's Ghost.