The Other Cowboy Poem

(Just a note: The idea for this poem came from a friend of mine who lived the experience in the corral. That part is true, the rest I made up to make the poem more interesting, especially the first part. A shout out to Kent for the great story!)


TINY’S BAD DAY
By Dee L. Martin

Tiny was a man who’s edges were rough.
He was short and stocky and down right tough.
As a boy he was ugly, like a nasty train wreck.
To get the dogs to play, they hung meat on his neck.

He used his head, so he got along in life.
With a turn of good luck, he found him a wife.
They moved to New Mexico on a wing and a chance.
With hard work and luck, he ended up with a ranch.

He raised a few horses, had some odd jobs in town.
His luck had been good, being more up than down.
But one darkening day he tempted his fate,
As he walked to the corral and climbed on the gate.

In the corral was a horse the new hands were breakin’
His nostrils were flared, his legs sprayed and shakin’
The hands had him haltered, though it wasn’t much use.
They all knew in time the horse would be loose.

As you would guess, they were all on the money,
Soon he was running and it ceased to be funny.
So Tiny jumped down to stand in its way.
It was pure danged meanness is all they could say.

That colt flared its nostrils and laid back its ears,
And the sound of its snort fired mens’ fears.
The look in his eyes took away any hope,
But Tiny was fearless and grabbed holt the rope.

The colt lunged and jumped and pushed Tiny down
So he was caught between the hooves and the ground.
He was trampled and drug and just plain mistreated.
Tiny was worried but he wasn’t defeated.

He held fast to the rope and cursed at the colt
And tried to remember all that he’d been tolt
About horse and training and breaking and such.
And he decided he didn’t care for this one much.

After he’d been drug a couple’a more rounds
And the skin he’d lost was amounting to pounds.
He decided to let go and give it a rest.
Of all Tiny’s ideas, this was the best.

He lay on the ground and stared into the sky.
He had rocks in his mouth and dirt in his eye.
Tiny was beat and tired with nothing to prove.
He started to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move.

It would seem, if Tiny’s thoughts were on track
That blasted colt had broken his back.
His legs were stiff and he couldn’t feel anywhere.
It looked like Tiny would now ride a wheelchair.

With that thought in mind, he wished he were dead.
He just sat there, his legs felt like lead.
The cowboys rushed over to give him a hand.
Soon they discovered his pants full of sand.

The pants filled up while he was drug by the horse.
The weight of the sand was the problem of course.
His back wasn’t broken, his legs weren’t numb.
All of this news made Tiny feel dumb.

The horse just stood there, strong and steady.
Whatever would come, he would be ready.
Now this should be kept just between you and me.
That horse ended up at the glue factory.