We wait at the line,
my horse is plum' hyped,
I sweat thru' my new shirt,
snap pockets, gold striped
We fly thru' the rope gate
when I hear buzzer's sound,
gotta charge to that first barrel
an' make a clean round
My horse leans in close
an' her hooves kick up dirt
as we do figure eights
an' I whip with my quirt
The wind feels like sixty
as it slaps at my face,
wanna win that prize money
placin' first in this race
The rootin' an' hollerin
is all meant for me,
as I circle the last barrel,
the crowd shouts with glee
Now they're all on their feet
as my hat goes a flyin',
heart beatin' so fast,
I think that I'm dyin'
Back thru' the gate
my horse stops with a slide,
as I pull back the reins
from one hell of a ride
The gals are a slappin'
my back as it ends,
shoutin' 'n claimin'
they're all my best friends
The next girl speeds out
an' she makes a good show,
her pony's fast runnin'
but down a barrel goes
Second was cinched
by the first rider out,
the one just before me
knew what racin's about
The next, an' the next
try to keep up the pace
but time counts against 'em,
one takes only third place
But I took the ribbon
an' prize money too,
I got plum' excited
but between me 'n you--
Tonight, at the bar,
as we all sip our beer
all that's important is
competin' next year.
© 2006, Tamara Hillman
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Tamara told us: At rodeos, I could feel the rhythm of hoof beats as each magnificent horse rounded the barrels with their female rider glued to the saddle. And since I have a broad imagination, I just put myself aboard (in my mind only) and took the ride of my life!"
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