by a nose

by a nose
the horse wins,
wet
and out of breath,
does it care, does it matter
to him
or her
what the finish was?
there is still the stable,
the water
and oats,
the hands brushing
and whispers
of love
from the handlers.
only in the stands
with tickets
torn,
or tickets waved in
victory
does the world feel right,
or wrong.