Cowboy

If I were a cowboy,

I would let my horse choose the trails we rode on,

Wandering where he would

Across gently climbing hills, 

Through valleys open to sunlight,

Wherever the grass was sweetest to the taste,

And the water freshest to drink.

He would lead and I would follow,

Trusting his instincts for living easily with the land.

I would carry a rifle for hunting,

For food only, never sport,

Plenty of cartridges,

A sharp knife and hatchet as my basic tools.

And a lariat.  No cowboy worth the name would be without a lariat.

I could do anything I wanted to with these.

 

I wouldn’t see people for long stretches of time,

And some I’d meet would no doubt be looking for a fight

For one reason or another.

I’d give it to them if they wouldn’t talk.

But talk first.  I wouldn’t have had much practice

But a man living alone has a lot of time to think

And when the time comes a lot of things to say.

Talk first.  If I fell, I’d say this if I had the time:

Take my horse with you, please,

Or if you leave him behind, remove his saddle.

I’d like him to be unburdened once he’s on his own.

 

I would avoid towns if I could

But I couldn’t always.  As much as possible then.

I’d try to see them for what they are,

Even at their worst:

Women forced to rent themselves

And men who obey laws no longer than it takes to piss,

Even though they’re the ones who made them.

Hard as it might be, I’d try not to judge anyone until I knew more.

The women I’d speak to softly,

Waiting patiently for their replies

If they had them to give.

And if they didn’t, I’d move on.

 

If I were a cowboy,

The West wouldn’t be my prize.

I’d claim nothing in it beyond a place to rest.

There were others here before me.

Where are they now?

I’d seek them out, listen to their stories,

Salute their gods,

Try to understand, if not always follow, their ways.

I’d know that somewhere inside each of us

What we believe is somehow the same.

Only a fool thinks otherwise.

A cowboy can’t afford to be a fool,

Not a real one,

Not the kind I would be.

 

When it came time to lie down for good

I’d look back on how far I came,

How many people I did good for

And how many did good for me.

I’d want to leave with no one thinking themselves better off

Because I’m gone. 

A cowboy doesn’t often build things

But he does leave things behind.

What others have built he should leave as he found

Or make them better if he knows a way to do so.

The distances I’d cover would be vast

And mostly I’d just be passing through

But I’d talk to everyone I met as if we lived next door to each other all our lives,

Speaking what I think is true

But always listening for something I’d never heard before

Or never thought of.

There had been other trails all around me

While I was riding mine.

I couldn’t see them, but they were there.

If I were a cowboy,

A good one that is,

I’d have known that the whole time.

 

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