The Truth About Tigers

Sometimes, a trivial fact bayonets into your mind
And resides there for a lifetime,
Even though its utility seems nonexistent.
Like knowing the name of Bob Lee’s horse.

General Robert E. Lee,
Confederate commander,
A man entwined in complexities:
West Point graduate, proud American,
Son of a Revolutionary War hero,
Yet leading an army against that same nation,
Choosing his native Virginia over union.

He rode into battle atop a 16-hand gray Saddlebred,
A horse as grand as his reputation,
Named aptly, Traveller.
This steed, tall and majestic,
Lent stature to Lee,
A man of ordinary height,
With proportionately short legs,
Making him seem a towering figure upon his mount.

I can’t pinpoint when this detail,
The name of Lee’s horse,
Galvanized in my memory,
Nor why my brain hoards it so close to the surface,
While more practical knowledge
Fades into the subconscious depths.

Perhaps, one day, I’ll stand as a contestant on Jeopardy
Ready to press the buzzer and confidently say,
“I’ll take ‘Confederate War Horses’ for $1,000,”
My eagerness clear, my voice full of assurance.
And the host, with a knowing nod,
Will await my response,
Already certain of its correctness.