COWBOY POETRY: Hungry Dumb Cowboys

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.

I saddled up old Cyruss.  He was ready for a ride.  We’d chosen South Boone Trailhead with the creek along its side.

We’d driven for two hours, then we parked next to the stream.  I’d waited for this day to come.  ‘Twas almost like a dream.

My good friend, O’Neal Davis, rode his sorrel, Arab mare.  We’d rode this trail so many times.  No way to count, I swear.

But this time we dumb cowboys conjured up a brand-new goal.  We took no food just sleeping bags, some worms and fishing pole.

I guess our main ambition was to, “Catch a mess of fish!”  We’d have our fill at supper time.  Brook trout’s our favorite dish.

But those danged old fish were sneaky.    They just wouldn’t take a bite.  Two cowboys would be hungry in their sleeping bags that night.

I wrestled in my Coleman tent and found no way to sleep.  I had to find some food to eat or I’d be six feet deep.

So, I rustled through my bags and found a year-old Snickers treat.  A mouse had chewed one end off, but still left a bite to eat.

I split the piece of candy, gave my pardner half the cut.  Then popped the piece of chocolate in our mouths down to the gut.

Our tiny piece of Snickers bar was heaven to the taste.  Especially for two grown up men whose brains were made of paste.

The morning light came early.  We both cast a desperate line.  Not a single fish was biting.  So, I took that as a sign.

I gave the fishing pole a mighty toss across the creek.   I should have kept a piece or two for walking with a stick.

Well I guess I’ve learned a lesson ‘cuz I always carry snacks.   And when it comes to fishing, cast your line and just relax.

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