the race track

it was a small
apartment that backed up to woods.
beyond the woods
was the racetrack.
at night you could
see the bloom of lights
and hear the rumble of horses,
the race being called
excitedly by a man's voice.
you would slide the glass
door to one side
and imagine you were there,
you were on a horse,
wearing shiny silks of
blue and green, your googles
down, your whip in motion
urging your steed
to the finish line.
you were younger than,
much younger,
at an age when you
could imagine
just about anything.