This Be the Horse
A poem for BoJack Horseman.
This post does not contain spoilers for BoJack Horseman Season 4.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Oh, wait. That was just a Philip Larkin poem. Sorry about that. Let’s try again:
They fuck you up, your sire and dam.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style manes and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Horse hands on misery to horse.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out of the race, off the course,
And don’t have any foals yourself.
Much better.
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