A Childhood Memory
Every Saturday morning,
Mr. Carson and Dimples,
an old minature pony,
would arrive in the neighborhood.
Mr. Carson would set up his tripod,
gently place, lock and set
his camera for action,
as all the kids stood in line.
Our parents would pay him a dollar,
as we each dressed for the occasion;
but I was already dressed in black,
Dimples stood calmly, only snorted,
as we each sat on her saddle,
and I smiled, pretending to be the cowboy,
as Mr. Carson snapped my picture.
It was the closest I ever came,
to riding off into the sunset.