COWBOY POETRY: Cowboy Arthritis

Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell's life. Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.

These old hands of mine are warped out of line from too many days as a cow man. There were days that were freezing.  My fingers were numb while pulling a calf with no gloves on.

My fingers were broke from breaking those colts.  I wonder, is there an easier way, to get them from birth to horse with some worth, has never changed in my day.

As I notice one finger is crooked, swollen and more painful than the others. But it works quite well for picking your nose, cuz it gets around those corners.

While sitting in my best old chair with my grandson at my side, he gave those fingers a good, hard squeeze.  I left that seat to hide.

So what happened next I should expect from an innocent little guy. He inspected my grips with his intense little looks and said I think you’re going to die.

I gave him a hug, as Grandpa’s do, and told him his fingers will be that way too. His only reply was a definite sigh and a prominent out loud eeeww!

I remember the day when my Grandma would say how her fingers and hands were so sore. I was ten years old, even then feeling bold, now later a total of four score.

I’ve had my butt in the saddle all day with fingers gripping the horn.  Then tossing that rope with purpose and hope of a catch to that almost new born.

Now some would say that gloves today will keep your hands brand new.  You’ll tug them on and right back off.  I know which one I’ll choose.

So if this life has caused my hands strife, I wouldn’t of had it another way.  Cuz the cowboy in me is the first thing you see.  Yes I’m proud of these hands you could say.

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