The Old Man Was A Cowboy
A hawk was riding downdrafts, and was gliding near a spot
in plain view of the couple; but the couple saw it not.
With him in his Italian suit and her in her spike heels,
the two a' them were flashin' their brand new set a' wheels.
The bird was of no interest; and neither was this town
with boarded stores and empty streets and shacks all tumbled down.
What mattered...they were out of gas...and here there was a pump.
They'd fill up fast, then whiz on past this "drab, deserted dump".
They called the lone attendant "a wrinkled up old coot"
with "tattered jeans," "oil-splattered hat," and "beat-up, battered boots."
They wondered," How could anyone not deaf and dumb and blind
settle in this wasteland and leave it all behind...
bright city lights and culture and genteel folks...refined,
the good life, all that mattered- just leave it all behind!
"How could- why would" anyone just leave all that behind?"
* * * * * * * *
The couple's eyes were lazy...and nothing much was seen;
some scraggly sage and here and there, a lonely patch of green...
with cactus growing everywhere, in every vacant space-
just sage and miles of cactus...and the old mans prickly face.
They didn't smell the scent of sage that kissed the desert air;
or see the blossoms that adorned a cactus here and there.
They didn't hear the meadowlark a singin' to its mate;
or hear the voices in the sage, their clucking tales relate.
The old man knew they didn't see the beauty all around them...
the golden nuggets on the ground, he knew they never found them.
The old man saw them sightless and as deaf as they could be.
With all their fancy clothes and car, not half as blessed as he.
His Daddy was a cowboy and at one time so was he.
While he no longer lived the life, the life he lived was free!
A cowboy's one part mustang; the other part is hawk.
He reads what nature's written; and he hears the prairie talk.
Clip the feathers from a hawk, and though the bird can't fly,
the hawk will struggle unto death to reach the open sky.
Once a cowboy, always one. He'll be one till he dies.
The hawk in him will ever yearn to glide through Western skies.
A cowboy's one part mustang, and it rears and bucks inside.
The old man was a cowboy, and his mustang never died.
It yearned to race unbridled...no rein around its neck...
no pushin' pens for 40 hours to get some paltry check.
Once a cowboy, always one. He'll be one till he's dead!
He'll always yearn to ride the range with blue skies overhead.
His Daddy was a wrangler; and at one time, so was he.
While he no longer lived the life, the life he lived was free!
The couple eyed the old man and his weather beaten clothes;
and he in turn, studied them while toying with the hose.
The old man could've told them... there's beauty in the sage!
There's beauty in the cactus and old faces scarred with age!
They speak about endurance...of surviving killer storms...
of lasting through the Arctic blasts when freezing is the norm.
Life's the grandest teacher; and with eyes well-schooled, he saw
shallow roots that wouldn't last to feel the warm spring thaw.
He didn't envy them their lot. In truth, he found it grim.
Trade places with them? Never! He thought life favored him.
The old man was a wrangler...at least he used to be.
While he no longer lived the life, the life he lived was free!
With no one breathin' down his neck or yellin' in his face...
and not one minute being crammed in postage stamps for space,
The man soaked up the slower pace and peaceful desert hush.
He vowed he'd nevermore endure the hectic city rush.
He pitied city folks their lot...their mad, non-ending grind...
and glad he was he'd chucked it and left it far behind.
Their city "rat race"? Not for him! He thought it sucked man's soul,
stripped their "person," chaining them to someone's corporate goal.
Tethered to no time clock...no cog in someone's wheel...
his life here in the desert was vibrant, free, and real.
The old man was a cowboy...that's what he'd always be.
While he no longer lived the life, the life he lived was free!© 2005, Bette Wolf Duncan
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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