COWBOY POETRY: The Dreadful Road

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.

My father and I set out for a day long trail ride.  We loaded up ol’ Stretch and Gill and tied em side by side.  

Gill had been my trusted horse, a thirteen-year-old bay.  It seemed I always knew his thoughts.  At least in my own way.  

Dad said he knew the road ahead.  My gut tensed up with fears.  I asked him when he’d been here last.  He said, “Oh ‘bout thirty years.”

The road was narrow, ruts were deep, the trail, some ten feet wide.  And to my left, a sudden drop!   My fears I couldn’t hide. 

 And then my father piped right up.  “I think this ain’t the road!  Let’s turn around, get out of here before we lose this load!” 

Have you ever turned a rig like this?  If not it’s no disgrace.  And would the road be wide enough to get us off this place?

‘Twas a miracle, I turned us back, my twelve-point turn around.  I only used a few cuss words.   My father’s, more profound.  

I took some time and checked in back.  How were the horses faring?  Old Gill gave me his nasty look, his nostrils truly flaring.

 I’m sure he said, ”You’re lost again!  This happens way too often!  I’d like to trade you in before I end up in a coffin!”

Well the clever man that I’d become put Gill back in his place.  I said the words,”Glue factory.”  You should have seen his face.  

 We headed back the way we came, now uphill all the way.  White bare knuckles gripped the wheel.  What more would come this way? 

Then my father spoke again.  His timing seemed so odd.  “Never turn your back on God.  Don’t turn your back on God.”

 ‘Twas a curious thing my father said, especially at this place.  ‘Cuz if we slid a bit downhill, we’d meet Him face to face! 

It’s plain to see our Maker shows some pity on his flock.  Cuz we drove up top without a scratch.  For sure, he’s more than talk.

I kissed the ground and yelled out loud.  “I’m glad to be alive!”  My father shook his head and said, “How does that kid survive?”

Gill shot another look at me.  Said, “Dude I think we’re through.  And if I get a choice again, next time it won’t be you.”

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