"The Wild One"
by Rebecca Glover
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for Clayton Scott You've been riding the range for a long time now, Herding those words across the sage, Coaxing them into your pen for breaking, The pinto ones, splotched with paint, The bay ones, ink maned and proud With Spanish blood, Red roans and blue roans, fillies and colts-- You've tamed your Mustangs gently bit by bit, Tamed with love and time. But sometimes, when you're flushing out a stray From a dry arroyo, Herding the shy new mother out with her spindle-legged foal Tucked neatly by her flank, Sometimes you see him in the distance, the sire, The wild, dark one You can't get a lasso on, And when he sees you, seeing him, With a flick of his black tail, he's gone-- And you smile to yourself 'cause you have his ladies, And it's only a matter of time. And then one morning while you're nodding over the paper, The farm news crackling on the AM, The most blasted racket cuts loose outside-- You rip the back door open And drop your coffee cup on the toes of your boots-- 'Cause there he is in your breaking pen, Pawing the dirt to a cloud of lust, Rolling his wild eyes at your mares and fillies, His stallion screams spurring them around their corral, The ones in horse trying to climb over the top rail to him, shrieking Like Elvis has just arrived and is swiveling his hips Next door And they want his babies. You grab the sugar bowl from the table And slip through the rails armed with one frayed lasso And one lump of sugar, crooning: "Easy boy, easy boy, no one's gonna hurt you, Easy boy." And he lets you approach, his wild eyes rolling-- Tears well in your own eyes-- He has chosen you Chosen you To do the breaking. And just for a second, the wild stallion Rests warm, velvet lips in your hand and quiets And you have no words for his beauty, No words for his wild stallion eyes and tangled mane, For the strong teeth crushing the small, sweet lump; Then he throws his head back, screams, rears, Beats the sky with savage hooves And you know, in that instant, The wild one is not here to be tamed-- He's here to steal your herd. And steal them he does-- He wheels, charges the fence, clears the top rail by a foot And all your tame horses, one by one, Gather themselves, float free from their pen, Streak after him toward the blue horizon, Tails held high, defiant. And you just stand there in the dust cloud with your mouth open, One palm up, still holding your dinky lasso And you turn and look and the only poem left in your pen Is your first poem, Sway-backed, broken-down, yellow-toothed, And she's watching them go with haunted eyes, Nickering softly to her friends as they disappear In the distance, And you know, deep in her quiet heart She's thinking, Dam, I wish I could still Do that. |