the sound of a hammer against a nail

I remember the fallen
horse
in Barcelona, lying on the street.
the wagon
turned over,
the man
with a broken arm, bleeding,
now in our car,
our back seat.
my brother and I in the front
as we sped to
a hospital.
my father in his navy whites
now streaked
in red.
his hands on the wheel,
he looked as scared as we were.
as he turned
the car around, I heard the shot.
the sound of a gun going off.
like the strike of a hammer
on a nail,
and looked back
to the policeman in grey,
his black holster open,
standing over the lifeless horse.
the steam of blood
still in the air.