The Running Mare

There once was a horse who ran for mayor
in a sleepy old town of Hoof-Beat Flats.
Most folks thought a horse running was okay--
some thought it real, others thought it ersatz.*

She was a fine horse who cared for her town--
she didn’t want to be an also-ran.
She galloped into local politics
to win, or her name wasn’t Georgeann.

Georgeann went house to house to meet the folks
and offer them perspective of her reign.
(Corruption had marred local government--
Georgeann wished to eradicate the stain.)

Georgeann had the humor of an old paint
and would beseech the people for their votes.
But right away, she’d wink her big, brown eye
and whinny with, “Plus, I would love your oats!”

She ran on a platform skillfully staged
to appeal to a wide range of voters.
Her opposition, however, ran ads
depicting her family as mere oaters.

But Georgeann didn’t stoop to those tactics;
rather, she focused on equine virtues.
She smiled broadly with her yellow teeth
and said, “I am the best one you can choose.”

She happened to be in a bar one night
hawking her bid for the mayoral race.
The bartender was confrontational
and cracked wise by asking, “Why the long face?”

Georgeann shook her head and jostled her mane
and with a rejoinder made herself known.
She won the hearts of a number of men
and women by the common horse sense shown.

One day a news reporter asked Georgeann
what she would do to clean up the city.
Georgeann thought long and hard, and then she neighed:
“Through the gate, onto the nitty-gritty!”

On election night she gathered with friends
and family to witness the returns.
And so Hoof-Beat Flats, having been saddled
with corruption, had genuine concerns.


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*ersatz--\ˈer-ˌsäts  : being a usually artificial and
                              inferior substitute or imitation.