Dec 21 10' revised Dec 17 11'

The Old Man and I 

The Dream

The old man is sitting in his rocker on the front porch a one-eyed cattle dog laying beside him, a brand new straw cowboy hat perched awkwardly on his head. He’s wearing a clean faded red shirt with pearl snaps, Levis’ held up with a western belt and an All-Around Cowboy Laramie Jubilee Days 1954 belt buckle. His boots are clean except for the one with tobacco juice from him trying to spit over the porch railing. I walk up the steps the dog raises his head and dutifully barks the old man softly tells him to hush he does and drops his head back down on his front paws. I go into the kitchen hang my hat on the rack open a cabinet door and reach behind the coffee for the whiskey bottle. I put some ice in a glass and pour a drink. I walk back to the porch to sit in a rocker by the old man. We slowly rock. I sip my drink. He spits. We watch the sun go down. I think of tomorrow’s work. The old man thinks of yesterday.

The Dream 

it just doesn’t make sense

when you’re feeling down like this

I wish I was back fixin’ fence

on Wagon Hound road

where the wind blows

making me mean and lean

as I stretch wire hammer fencing nails into the wooden posts

watch the hawks soar over head

and listen to the magpies 

me and the brown horse are out here everyday

the everyday getting shorter

than the day before

feeling the wind get colder -

I walk  the fence line splicing in here and there

pounding in new staples with my fence pliers

this is our routine the brown horse and I 

he drags his reins and follows me down the fence line

my partner - carrying my fencing tools and a little roll of wire

stopping to chew on a blade of something now and then

then catching up with me

sometimes we just both stop and look at the sky

or an antelope herd run by

at lunch I take his saddle and bridal off

he won’t go far we’ve done this together too long

I wipe him down give him a little breathing room

I unwrap a little bed roll use it for a pillow 

take an afternoon nap the sun on my face

welcoming the warm

thinking about what has been and what’s left

to be done

I fall into a nice sleep 

something nibbles on my boot

the brown horse says let’s go

it’s getting on in the afternoon

I saddle him up

pull out a treat from the saddlebags

a cookie for me a piece of ‘cake’ for the brown 

we do another mile or so as the sun is going down

we head back to from where we came

the brown picks it up stepping into a trot

the barn and some warm food is at the end of the line

hay and some oats for the brown

one of Maxine’s hot evening meals  for me

I start thinking about what it might be -

we come to the rocky creek as the last light of day fades

the brown  wades through and kicks into a gallop

I let him make this spirited run to the warmth

of the evening lights of the barn

his day is almost done

the brown slows down just before the old barn door

I slide off as he is skidding down to a stop

I have the barn door open lead him inside

he clip clops to a manger and finds some fresh hay

I unsaddle him rub him down 

make sure the gate to the corral is open

he’ll go out later and drink from the creek

I put everything up and head for the house

Maxine will have my food on the table and probably some kind of pie

then to the bunkhouse to crawl between the warmth of the heavy old quilt

and fresh clean sheets

sleep finds me quickly -

the dog barks I awake from my dream

startled to find that I’m just an old man

sitting in a rocking chair 

staring at the tobacco stain on my boot

The old man is sitting in his rocker on the front porch a one-eyed cattle dog laying beside him, a brand new straw cowboy hat perched awkwardly on his head. He’s wearing a clean faded red shirt with pearl snaps, Levis’ held up with a western belt and an All-Around Cowboy Laramie Jubilee Days 1954 belt buckle. His boots are clean except for the one with tobacco juice from him trying to spit over the porch railing. I walk up the steps the dog raises his head and dutifully barks the old man softly tells him to hush he does and drops his head back down on his front paws. I go into the kitchen hang my hat on the rack open a cabinet door and reach behind the coffee for the whiskey bottle. I put some ice in a glass and pour a drink. I walk back to the porch to sit in a rocker by the old man. We slowly rock. I sip my drink. He spits. We watch the sun go down. I think of tomorrow’s work. The old man thinks of yesterday.

The Dream 

it just doesn’t make sense

when you’re feeling down like this

I wish I was back fixin’ fence

on Wagon Hound road

where the wind blows

making me mean and lean

as I stretch wire hammer fencing nails into the wooden posts

watch the hawks soar over head

and listen to the magpies 

me and the brown horse are out here everyday

the everyday getting shorter

than the day before

feeling the wind get colder -

I walk  the fence line splicing in here and there

pounding in new staples with my fence pliers

this is our routine the brown horse and I 

he drags his reins and follows me down the fence line

my partner - carrying my fencing tools and a little roll of wire

stopping to chew on a blade of something now and then

then catching up with me

sometimes we just both stop and look at the sky

or an antelope herd run by

at lunch I take his saddle and bridal off

he won’t go far we’ve done this together too long

I wipe him down give him a little breathing room

I unwrap a little bed roll use it for a pillow 

take an afternoon nap the sun on my face

welcoming the warm

thinking about what has been and what’s left

to be done

I fall into a nice sleep 

something nibbles on my boot

the brown horse says let’s go

it’s getting on in the afternoon

I saddle him up

pull out a treat from the saddlebags

a cookie for me a piece of ‘cake’ for the brown 

we do another mile or so as the sun is going down

we head back to from where we came

the brown picks it up stepping into a trot

the barn and some warm food is at the end of the line

hay and some oats for the brown

one of Maxine’s hot evening meals  for me

I start thinking about what it might be -

we come to the rocky creek as the last light of day fades

the brown  wades through and kicks into a gallop

I let him make this spirited run to the warmth

of the evening lights of the barn

his day is almost done

the brown slows down just before the old barn door

I slide off as he is skidding down to a stop

I have the barn door open lead him inside

he clip clops to a manger and finds some fresh hay

I unsaddle him rub him down 

make sure the gate to the corral is open

he’ll go out later and drink from the creek

I put everything up and head for the house

Maxine will have my food on the table and probably some kind of pie

then to the bunkhouse to crawl between the warmth of the heavy old quilt

and fresh clean sheets

sleep finds me quickly -

the dog barks I awake from my dream

startled to find that I’m just an old man

sitting in a rocking chair 

staring at the tobacco stain on my boot