This poem by Australian poet, David Henry, tells the tragic story of a trackwork accident brought on by the cruel methods and arrogant attitude of a trainer. Although it is horrible to contemplate, there are still a few trainers around who employ these methods, and David Henry's poem serves both as a warning to these people and also as a work of art in its own right. Mr. Henry has generously donated this poem, and another of his works, to be used on the Equicom site. We ask that you respect the copyright ownership of the author.
The dew lies heavy on the grass, the night has now turned grey.
The mist rolls over the race-course, the icy breezes play.
And through the murky gloom the sound of hoof beats come,
Just like a roll of thunder, the beating of a drum.
Suddenly from out of the fog a pair of horse come;
Stride for stride they gallop, as if the money's on,
Nostrils wide and shining hide, their breath adds to the fog
A hundred yards down the track, they slow down to a jog.
The trainer gives a little smile and writes in his time-list.
The jockey and apprentice appear out of the mist.
"Was that a good run boss?" The younger boy inquires,
"Phantom King's running well, we have no need of wires."
The trainer looked up quickly and gave the boy a stare,
"When I want advice from you, I'll ask, for I don't care
To be told what to do by a callow youth like you."
Before the dawn next morning - the Jockey's horse was lame,
Phantom King came to the track, the boy was fresh and game.
He spurred him from six furlongs, the King went like the wind,
The boy, low on his withers, before had never sinned
Remembered the instructions the trainer gave to him;
At the straight the battery was applied to Phantom's skin.
The stallion screamed in terror and plunged into the rail.
The youthful boy had not a chance, his body far too frail.
Almost half a ton of threshing horse rolled upon the lad
Whose eyes were bright with terror, and then turned pale and sad.
He never took one shallow breath, the horse had crushed his chest.
Death came swiftly, silently and took him to rest.
When the fuss at last was over; - two bodies sent away,
Phantom King was destroyed, he smashed a leg that day.
The trainer left the track in tears, never to return.
Within his heart a picture of that boy will ever burn.
He never trained a horse again, he could not carry on
The boy he murdered on that day was his only son.
