COWBOY POETRY: The Bottle

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.

Our camp was in the Wind River.  The night air had a bite.  But my Coleman propane lantern kept me warm throughout the night.

Now some would say a sleeping bag is torture at its best.  While mine is warm and comfy.  I’d say better than the rest.

A nervous horse was pawing.  I could hear him stomp the ground.  A squirrel chattered back at him.  I loved that night time sound.

But then as luck would have it, I’d say 2 a.m. or so.  My rest was interrupted, ‘cuz I really had to go.

The thought of crawling out my tent was more than I could bear.  And what if I got frostbite in a certain place down there.

Just then I realized I’d come prepared for this event.  I wouldn’t have to leave my bag or crawl out of my tent.

I’d bought a plastic bottle and had ordered it online.  ‘Twas a urination jug and it was sure to work just fine.

I prided my own self in doing something so profound.  I thought, right then, I prob’ly am the smartest guy around.

I filled the jug up to the top and forced the lid on tight.  Then I set it down beside me.  Now I’d sleep till morning light.

It must have been an hour or so.  I hadn’t slept quite yet.  When I got a whiff of urine and my sleeping bag was wet.

Someone had poked a pin-hole, in my bottle, for a gag.  I threw the bottle out the tent along with my wet bag.

I pulled some extra sweats on; turned my lantern up to high.  I was going to get some sleep, that night, come heaven do or die.

The other fellas said I sure was noisy that first night. But I made it through the camping trip and didn’t get frostbite.

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