The Rider

He returned to the house
as promised, on a pale horse
that shied away from me
when I touched its yellow
coat, and the rider lifted
his face from a white hoodie
when he whispered my mother’s
nickname in my ear,
and I asked where he had
taken her that morning
for I did not like the company
he kept, and when he spoke
I smelt damp earth and cigarettes
and stale wine.
I did not ask why
his job kept him on the road
or about the men and women
he had been with
on the way to this house.