| RODEO IN THE RAIN Sloshing through the parking lot, mud up to my spurs. A couple walking hand in hand, wearing matching shirts, his and hers. Old timers sitting in they�re cars waiting it out, watching the clock. Rookies huddled up under the beer stand, rain dripping off the tarp. Lighting flashes across the sky. Horses are jumpy; I�ve got to keep my rigging dry. The stands are empty; there�s no doubt, But rodeo ain�t called for no rain out. I�ve drawn pretty deep, the broncs sure to place. Should I turn out? With this mud, it wouldn�t be a disgrace. The veterans are discussing the odds, the fees are paid and the fines are high. Damn, that blacken sky. Rookies have got that ashen look. Normal risk you can multiply. Good reason for the butterflies The first rider nods for the gate. I pray she don�t slip for his sake. It�s a strong ride with a lot of rake The pickup man hauls him safely to the gate. The announcer calls out �Seventy eight!� The next rider crashes at the wall. The mud flies, the horse scowls. Please God, don�t let his bronc fall. Looks like he will escape with just a swollen jaw. I straddle my horse in the chute. Man, feel the power of this brut. She shudders from the cold. I shake from my mind stories of wrecks I�ve been told My legs are trembling, as I cut the knots from her mane A spur caught in this hair. �Whew!� I must be insane. I set my rigging as she kicks the gate. And say a quick prayer so my soul is ready to take. Her hide is warm to my skin, �Easy girl, I just want to be your friend.� My rigging is pulled my hats down tight. The flankman and my partners are to my right. The chute boss yells, �Are you gonna wait all damn night!?� The arena�s clear, ain�t no more time for fear. It�s over in eight seconds that seem like a year. The pickup man closes in. He�s the bronc rider�s gallant friend. He sets me on the ground A little shaken, but safe and sound. I hold my chaps out of the muck, �Thank you Lord, my angel, and lady luck. The announcer calls out �Sixty Nine!� Not to place, but I�ll not sigh. I�m lucky to be alive. Some hand is bragging about us having no fear. I�m just wondering �What am I doing here?� The good Lord takes care of children and fools. I�m starting to gray. Now just what does that say? Tom G. Smith 1996 |