The Bull Rider

Randy Stoakes eases himself down
feels the momentary grit of cartilage on bone
singing like electricity in a line
that rings in his spine
as the dirt-colored bull lurches against the raw slats
Keet Lawson puts a boot heel on the brahma's shoulder
muttering "nasty ol bastard" as he tries to wedge him out
the echoed squawk of PA says "have a hand
for an ex-champeen, down in the runnin
needs a big ride on ol Hot n' Nasty"
and Stoakes wraps his fist tight and ruminates
on a beer-borne dream he had last night

back on the old man's hard luck ranch by Ten Sleep, he was
stalking a frozen creek for calves,in a lash-locking wind
when he come up on Delbert
his brother dead ten years
hunkered down in the lee of a big boulder
embers from the coffee fire scattering in the whirling air
across the outstretching white crust of snow
without speaking, he sat a busted spruce log, and took the cup from Delbert

The bull lurches sidewise again and the quick pain brings him back
in time to hear the bell, watch the gate snap open
feel the bull spring in the long leap, spinning the ass-end in a kick
Randy lets himself swing on the loop
but then the animal reverses with a sudden twist
flipping the cowboy into air, palm pinioned in the rope
he has time to hear the crack of his wrist
before he blacks out
staring at Delbert's crooked smile
tasting bitter camp coffee
and waiting for the Wyomin wind to slack
so they can head down the draw to warm beds