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Cowboy Poetry
Calving Time
Douglas Polk
The cold bites into face and hands,
my horse stomps his impatience,
while the heavys counted and identified,
two missing means this ride not quite over,
turning away from the direction of the barn, and warmth,
the knothead horse expresses some attitude,
reminded whose boss,
he lowers his head and begins to plod back into the cold,
knowing where we are going he breaks into a lope,
coming around the last hill,
and out of the wind,
sure enough,
in the middle of the wild plum thicket stands one of the missing cows,
a newborn calf on the ground,
riding on around the thicket,
we spot the other heavy still walking with the wind,
getting her turned and headed home,
easier now,
lacking her traveling partner,
she seems happy to go,
finally to the barn,
unsaddle and care for the horse,
out to the pickup with the calving bag,
back to the plum thicket,
and our first born of the season,
calving has once again begun.
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