Bull Rider/Tamara Hillman

© 2004, Tamara Hillman

This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

The task ahead is mighty,

each cowboy knows his lot,

it's win or lose the bounty,

an' go up or down a slot.

He straddles the great Brahma

inside the narrow chute,

pulls his hat down good 'n tight

before he gives the boot.

Ties his hand to the bell-rope,

secures it once or twice,

then scoots himself above it,

while the bull ain't actin' nice.

The critter snorts 'n paws the dirt

just waitin' to dismount

the cowboy sittin' on his back

before eight seconds count.

Then rider gives a signal,

it's us'lly just a nod,

an' the keeper of the gate pulls wide,

an' runs thru' muck 'n sod.

Out comes the bull like lightenin',

he's movin' awful fast,

twistin' an' a turnin'

in hopes the guy won't last.

Dirt 'n dust is flyin' as

that bull spins round an' round,

up an' down he's leapin'

to land rider on the ground.

The cowboy keeps his free arm

swingin' in the air,

it's man 'n beast contestin'

an' it's do, or die, or dare.

The buzzer fin'lly screeches,

an' the rider just wants down,

he jumps clear of the killer bull,

an' hides behind a clown.

He's hopin' for a buckle,

an' that championship pay,

but if he just breaks even,

he'll try another day,

'Cause rodeoin's in his blood,

he knows no other life,

an' very few are lucky

with an understandin' wife.

Folks scratch their heads in wonder

at what makes a person ride

but only he can answer

'cause it's somethin' deep inside.

Is the cowboy brave or crazy,

they just can't say for sure,

but they stare in sheer amazement

when he gives that bull the spur.

The crowds 'll keep on comin'

as long as cowboys choose

to ride the frightful Brahmas,

competin', win or lose.

© 2004, Tamara Hillman

This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.