He fills his saddle bag with everything
he could lay his broken hands on.  He
was always riding between somewhere
and no place unless he wanted to wrangle
a steer or buck a horse for a quick buck
and sore body.
 
Of all the things he couldn’t give up,
it wouldn’t be his pony. Once
you had the right one, you were honored,
bound and your constant companion. He
never believed in education. His father
said he’d learn plenty on the trail.
You’ll learn on your ass which way
is north and south.
Follow the dust, he’d say.
 
He had a cowboy wariness
when he left that rodeo. Those wild
and ruined buckers were coming after him.
They wanted his life and his saddle and pony.
This, his last ride, he’ll see the sun-devils
and heated hollows. This sunset
will burn on his mind this time
and place as he sallies out
in the cowboy way.