I often reminisce about trail rides and chasing cattle with my cowboy friends Tony and Randy. The New Mexico shortgrass prairie, shin oak and sage-covered sand hills southeast of Clovis are favored range lands and stomping grounds. In mind’s eye, as countless times before, I venture into the boundless “Staked Plain” of New Mexico. Every minute is a lifetime of adventure. Their knowledge of cattle and horsemanship, cowboy humor, wit and above all patience give this greenhorn a glimpse into a way of life forgotten by many and experienced by few. (I dedicate this poem to my friends.)
Rain scarcely falls but wind does blow.
Dust time and again shrouds azure skies.
Cowboys roam the wilds of New Mexico,
Where cattle bawl and the hawk still flies.
Roll out of bed, stumble, it’s o’dark thirty;
Find gloves, don’t forget hat hung on rack;
Grab spurs, slide into boots worn and dirty,
Then make tracks in pickup, dogs in the back.
Saddle up Trouble at first blush of dawn.
The stallion joins Melon Head a red mule
And two weathered cowpokes ‘bout to have fun
With a wide-eyed greenhorn, handled old school.
Smell the sage, roust antelope and deer;
Ride fence down draw and over sand hill;
Round up heifers and chase ornery steer
And get ‘em to water ‘neath lone windmill.
Border Collies work, keep dogeys in line;
Chutes, gates, needles, branding iron smoke;
Count, tag, check heifers and due dates divine,
While bulls hightail it as steers after knife stroke.
Setting sun paints the western horizon red;
Band of coyotes sings ballads to the moon;
Greenhorn can’t wait to crawl into camp bed,
But starlight surrenders to dawn too soon.
Snow seldom falls, but when Blue Northers blow
They unleash snow squalls from angry skies,
Which on the High Plains of New Mexico
Feeds cowboy-life lore and tall tales likewise.
© Ilija Lukić 2022 (original version written in March 2017)
