Where have you gone Sam the Jackal?
How can it be that through miles and miles
Of wires and wires
No message can reach us on a day this blue?
For the ducks that swim the infield quacked us no warning quack
Foretelling MODEST MAIDEN, in good form,
Well-bred and well thought of by her neighbors
Well-regarded by her muckers and respected by her groom,
Well-behaved while being shod and well-placed in the gate—
Distance suits—
And off at nine to five—
On a track announced as Fast yet that looked no more than
Good Would break with maiden-modesty
To find her stride too late.
Too late Sam the Jackal?
How could this be so when no skywritten prophecy gave us
The post-time tip
That GALLANT RALLY wearing one-eyed blinkers and racing evenly
Would rally gallantly at the top of the lane?
Yet lack the necessary speed?
Necessary speed? What can be the meaning of this Sam the Jackal?
We would like to understand how GAME COMMAND
Nine times out and never out of money
Responding to brisk pressure would battle gamely for command
To quit cold at the eight-pole.
Quit cold Sam the Jackal? After battling for command?
Is there something you weren’t telling us you’d like to tell us now?
For all you said was RECKLESS LOVE was one sad dog
Held together by scotch tape and Absorbene That no bookie had to fear.
I hate to take your money boys
You added when we put up ten apiece on RECKLESS at 44-1 And pocketing our fifty.
Now nobody is blaming anybody Sam the Jackal
We would only like to know
How it could happen that NEVER BETTER—
Only needs good ride—
Got the ride that he’d been needing while never feeling better Easily outgaming horses who never had felt worse Leaving GAME COMMAND and MODEST MAIDEN tied fast to the rail.
To just miss.
JUST MISS Sam the Jackal? What the hell is going on here?
Whom has been kidding whom?
We didn’t need to see the rerun: we were standing at the scale
When RECKLESS LOVE came past the stands
Striped by a daily-double sun
And sheer astonishment.
Steadily improving
At forty-four to one.
Bulled way between rivals. Won driving.
We were waiting where we always wait
Beside the fifty-buck partition
Exchanging self-congratulations
While doing some addition
And disdaining well-backed entries who find their strides too late.
When it came to one and all of us
That you were a little late yourself.
Too late too late too late Sam the Jackal?
On a night when the moon has a disbarred rider’s eyes
And tip-sheets are borne upon a wind
Blowing from Just Missed into nowhere
And cats freeze to death on fire-escapes
You shall come to us again
Returning forgotten hoofbeats to the backstretch of our dreams.
O skywrite something for us Sam the Jackal
Before post-time tomorrow
Leave us grasp your manly hand
Leave us see your sunlit smile
Give us a sign: some omen
For trustful hearts now desolate who once knew you best—
Like Wither Thou Goest I Shall Go
Will Pay Sixty Cents on the Dollar
Or at least a forwarding address.