Analysis of "Days at the Races" by Boris Dralyuk

 "Either he's dead or my watch has stopped."  This Groucho Marx joke puts times in a duality perspective either what he's seeing is someone who stopped and is dead or what he's seeing is time not moving.  In either case, the quote sets up the poem to have some silliness and some insight on movement of time -- it's the other person not moving, or time has impossibly stopped.

And the humor is definitely in the beginning of this Elizabethan sonnet, "Away they go, with their outlandish names, / saddled with human baggage, desperate wagers--" There's a certain cynicism and snark boiling down the experience to seemingly projected judgements: "outlandish names" "human baggage" "desperate wagers".  The speaker first identifies the names on the horses and then sees jockeys as "human baggage" but also makes them symbolic as a burden on the horses, and then finally with "desperate wagers" the speaker then focuses on the ones who are betting.  I think the focus on "desperate" is a projection from the speaker.

"enough to make a Thoroughbred go lame, / be it strapping colt or spry old stager."   I think the humor here is the personification of the Thoroughbreds noticing this sad set-up and then they just go lame -- no matter the age and experience, the scene of "human baggage" and "desperate wagers--" is enough for them to stop trying --it feels like they're used to this as a routine:

Away they go, with Monday in the lead,
and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday gaining speed.

Friday and Saturday, poor things are off the bridle,

while Sunday, bless its heart, is simply idle. 

Note how the horses are named after days which is a pun back to the title, but also that they are "lame" just barely passable racing.  The horses become symbols because they are named days of the week, so I look for how motivation is made.  Monday is the worst but the start of the work day, and probably the most productive followed by the following days of Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.  Fuck all Fridays and Saturday comes in as a chance to relax, but to the speaker they are "poor things" that can't even be controlled because they are off the "bridle."  And then finally Sunday does nothing.  I think this parallels motivation throughout the week; however, I'd put Saturday as idle, and Sunday the one day where there's anxiety but relaxation, but it might be too parallel, too on the nose as metaphor if it was this way.  At least the days of the week and the way they are presented comes off as a better flow of time.

Some like to be there -- tremble at the crack
of every whip, eat dust bath in the lather
and feel the press of flesh. [...]

The poem takes a bit sensual. tactile physical turn with these lines.  Who are some people?  I'm guessing by the action it's the ones that believe in carpe diem, just really in there experiencing the same pain and pleasure of the passage of time with horses.  They are with Monday with every whip and taste of dirt.  Flesh to flesh.  They put everything in the days, in the desperate wagers.

But not the speaker: "[...] Me? I would rather / keep my distance, make my bets off-track."  The speaker just rather not be too involved in the wagers being made in time.  It feels like the speaker just goes with the flow which is an observable, routine of Monday through Sunday.  "Each week I pony up a little dough / although I seldom win, or place, or even show."  The end hammers down the humor with the pun of "pony" here to show investment.  Although not necessarily a desperate wager, it's some investment in this routine, a possibility in winning, but the speaker doesn't put hope on desperate odds or keeps track.

With losing by various degrees to not placing or even showing, the investment doesn't come back, but the speaker keeps doing it.  It's kind of like an inescapable karmic circle is explained through horse racing.