No longer a kingdom of one

I was watching
the old stallion
out past the fence,

the one whose coat
has the matte finish
of a chalkboard
left out in the rain.

He was down
in the tall grass,

the vet standing by
with a clinical air
and a needle
full of a very
permanent sleep.

For years,
he had owned
the entire paddock,

a singular,
undisputed weight
that the smaller colts
watched from a distance,

waiting
for the fence
to find a new center.

I counted
the white scars
across his flank—

thirteen long stripes
of old friction
from years of leaning
into the wire—

and the fifty small burrs
tangled in his mane
like a cluster
of fallen, jagged stars.

Just as the light
seemed to go out
in his eyes,

one hind leg
let out a sudden,
unintended muscular
conviction—

a heavy,
iron-shod arc
directed at nothing
in particular.

It wasn’t a protest
against the needle
or a final grudge
against the saddle.

It was just
the firing
of ancient circuits,

the nerves
of a vast,
aging empire
having a bit
of an after-party

long after the guests
had already gone home
to their own,
smaller,
busier stables.

It was a brief,
violent sincerity,

a way of trying
to gallop straight
out of the skin,

as if the old monopoly
of the wind
could be restored

by a single,
desperate thud
against the air.

In the corner office
of the firm downtown,

a suit
that has been
clinically dead
for three quarters

suddenly signs
a massive,
impossible order

for a line
of toaster-ovens
that no longer exist.

He is attempting
to dictate the terms
of a room

that has already
moved on,

shuffling its chairs
into a dozen different,
smaller circles.

The board members
watch the monitor,

praising
the sudden,
sharp kick

as a sign
of enduring vigour,

a visionary pulse
in a difficult market.

They nod
at the bold,
strategic move,

unaware
that they are merely watching
the chemical noise

of a system
running out of breath,

a bit of rhythmic static
from a department
that hasn’t yet received
the memo
from the heart
saying
the paddock
is no longer
a kingdom
of one.

Majekodunmi O. Ebhohon is a Nigerian poet and playwright. He is the author of ‘The Great Delusion’, winner of the ANA Prize for Drama, 2025. He writes from Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria.
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