Shoveling Shit

In the quiet morning
Cesar's impatient hunger fills
the rafters of the settled barn
After saying our hellos
he knows breakfast will soon arrive

His nickers continue through the alley
growing louder with the drum
of pellets thumping into buckets
Back at his stall, I ask how he’s been,
how’s the weekend, made any headway 
with the new quarter horse mare?

Cesar loves a good scratch
in the dense and dusty hair
below his thick neck,
but he nuzzles my shoulder, saying
now’s not the time 
and you’re late. 

This silvering red roan 
inhales grain in gulps,
every meal same as the last,
finishes with smacking lips 
and a gentle snort

Satisfied, he tells me he’s doing fine 
psyllium helped his diarrhea
that mare’s hard to get
and the new farrier’s too young
but he can’t complain

I move on to cleaning stalls
something I’ve grown to love
thanks to lacking office culture,
the horses’ needs more important
than prying revenue from consumer clicks

What is joy?
Not happiness or contentment
but art in life
like morning chores
starling monkey chatter
or the barn cat warming in the sun
all reminding me it won’t be long
until joy presses plump lips 
upon my heart again