Cowboy poetry
Joel Nelson and Don Cadden
Breakfast With Pete
First light breaks on a drizzly day, the kind that chills you to the bone
I can make out smoke from the chimney ahead, so old Pedro must be home
As I bounce along the rutted road, the pickup’s snug and warm
At my age days like this a’horseback, have sorta lost their charm
On finding Someone
If on some better than average day
I should be riding along
Observing—not expecting—well maybe
And should see just as hoof swept by
One flawless arrow point—
If on that shining morning
I should step down to lift this point
Turning it delicately—feeling its smoothness
Beneath my fingertips
I would marvel at its perfection
At the way some ancient one
Had tempered and crafted such beauty
And how it came to lie there
All these centuries—covered—uncovered
Re-hidden—re-exposed
Until it came to me
To happen by this place
On this day made now more perfect.
And I would ponder such things
As coincidence and circles and synchronicity,
And I would pocket this treasure near my heart,
And riding on I would recall
Having seen such treasure as this elsewhere
But not this one—not this one.
And for one brief moment I would stiffen with fear
At how one quick glance in another direction
Could have lost this to me forever,
And I would touch my shirt over my heart
Just to make sure.
Warmth glows through the windows, and I know the coffee’s hot
Then a chill runs down my spine, and my belly starts to knot
Dangling from the porch, like some head upon a stake
Is the cold, wriggling carcass of a skinned out rattlesnake
Pete will grind and sprinkle it on his food, like some curranderro said
Hell, if that’s what it takes to make you well, I’d just as soon be dead
I shudder as I pass ol’cascabel, holler buenos dias as I go in
Pedro looks up from cooking tortillas, with an impish little grin
I pour a cup of coffee, spoon warm frijoles in a bowl
Pete throws on hot tortillas, that will warm your very soul
We talk about the country, the horses and the cattle
And Pete says he fixed that broken latigo on my saddle
He talks about a letter from his daughter n Mexico
She’s going to have a baby and just starting to show
I pour us another cup, and we enjoy our meager meal
But I suppose to most folks it wouldn’t have much appeal
The splatters on the roof sound a little stronger now
Sure makes a feller smile that runs a bunch of cows
Between our Tex-Mex conversation, and the early morning sounds
I pause to pity the folks having their latte-tatte, at the Starbucks back in town
by Don Cadden
by Joel Nelson
Cenizo
First Quarter 2017
21