The Cowboys

Poem by Daniel F. Giallombardo

Part I

They come in self-consciously slapping
hats against dirty Levi's.
    Their horses tied outside in the
best traditions.
    Checkered shirts with large pockets,
boots showing the days' work.
    Pockets filled and buttoned
closed they stop to ruffle the coat of the
dog, then return to the past.

Part II
    Rain drenched and cold
Levi's and hats, poncho's soaked through
    They sing soft songs to cattle and ride
through the night.
    These are the cowboys.
    Fire beneath an overhang
Not enough for warmth; not enough for coffee.
    These are the Cowboys.
    Smiles, beneath dripping Stetson brims.
Boots with drops of water shiny and bright.
    These are the Cowboys.
    A dying breed these knights
from another time.
    These are the Cowboys.

Part III

The air is crisp with frost
and these men from long ago, leave
the warmth of the wood stove
bunkhouse.
    These are the cowboys.
     Slowly, almost begrudgingly
they make their way toward breakfast
    These are the cowboys.
    Talking softly, they re-adjust
hats, tug at blue jeans, and belts,
pull on worn leather gloves.
    These are the cowboys.
    Pulling heavy coats closer they
scan the sky for signs of snow.

Part IV

Trudging horses return to the barn
following the day's labors.
   The door closes behind, and they walk slowly
to their stalls, knowing forage awaits.
   A curry comb brushing, like a profound
massage eases them into the night.
   Bone weary, the cowboy makes his way to the bunkhouse
to remove and stow the gear of his calling.
   Then quietly, too tired for talking, he washes
and makes his way to dinner.

Part V

Stunted and sere
the trees
become near
invisible in the purple
night and smoke of
the campfire.
    And these are the Cowboys.
    A chill
blows down
the mountain
and sagebrush
the perpetual
prairie vagrants
blow across
his vision.
    And these are the Cowboys
    Mesquite branches
burn low
he lays out
his bed roll.
Rocky ground for
a mattress.
     And these are the Cowboys
     Too tired
for dreams
the cold nose of
his horse
nudges him
awake.
Sun barely lighting
the sky.
    And these are the Cowboys.
    Coffee cooking
bacon sizzling
and the final call of the Cougar
rips through
the damp
morning air.
   And these are the Cowboys.

PartVI

Staring unseeing he
runs a gloved finger
across frosted fence board
wondering how long
it will take
to saddle this one.
    And these are the Cowboys
    Skyscraper high
on strong back legs
the stallion
hammers at the sky.
    And these are the Cowboys.
    Slowly opening
the gate
latigo in hand
he tosses
his hat
to the side.
    And these are the Cowboys.
    The horse is settled now
Watching
wary,
He feels the
rope go round
his neck
and as
he's tied to
the center
post in
the corral
he again
thunders
and raises
deadly hooves.
    And these are the Cowboys.
    Bruised hours
pass slowly
as the
stallion feels weight
upon
his back for
the
first time.
    And these are the Cowboys.
    Three days and still
the stallion
fights
eyed by
his female brood
until sensing
no further danger
he submits.
    And these are the Cowboys.
     Two weeks
and now
the stallion leads
the way to the
barn ridden
by the
owner's
youngest son.
    And these are the Cowboys.

Poem © Daniel F. Giallombardo
No part may be copied without his written permission.
Email Dan at ParrotheadDan@avenew.com
Visit his web site Watercolors.

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Contents Page	Poems
More Poems	The Goat
The Goat, Part Two	Bullapulting
The Cowboys	And More Poems
Jokes	Last Night at Trapper's Cabin
Dummies and Stupidities	Sponsor's Page
Manure Happens	Subscribe or Submit Material

Country-Fried BULL

The Cowboys

Poem by Daniel F. Giallombardo