A horse of a woman

— Dash it all, Fidelma,
what’s a man to do,
when you’re standing in the paddock
and blocking all the view?

Could you be more circumspect,
a little less pronounced,
when we’re trying to observe
how the jockeys hold their mounts?

“It’s not my fault that I’m big-boned;
I’ve had a lousy life.
Ever since I married you,
I’ve been a slave to strife.”

— Just shift yer butt, Fidelma,
we don’t need your tales of woe,
but the jockeys must be ready
for the race at Neuf Château.

“You care more for your horses
than you ever did for me!
Is it any wonder
that beyond me you can’t see.”

— Now the jockeys are confused
by your equine weight:
if you don’t shift, Fidelma,
you’ll be at the starter’s gate.


 

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