It’s Tuesday and I gotta mount that colt.
The groundwork’s not gone well~ he tends to bolt.
But I been paid and gotta get it done.
We need no more than walk…don’t wanna run.

He’s cinched up slow as always. That’s our way.
The greenhorns think he only wants to play.
They point with greenhorn fingers while they laugh
when flips his damn, fool head like some giraffe.

But somehow we get bridled ere it’s noon.
I think he’s only gazin’ at the moon
and settin’ up to take a careful aim.
He’s gonna launch me high and try to maim.

I gip him ‘til he’s hot and frothy brown
and then I work to pull his head aroun’.
He bites at me and damn near doesn’t miss
and now, of course, I need to take a piss.

This happens every time. Can’t tell you why.
The bladder fills up fast though mouth is dry.
Left foot to stirrup oughta light his wick
and just like that my right’s a pogo stick.

I’m up and pull his nose round to my knee,
then kick such dust that I can barely see.
He huffs and snorts with legs spread holding still.
I only need a minute if he will.

I stretch and try to pet him so he knows
ain’t nothin’ gonna harm him~ then he blows.
Once saw this colt kick both hind feet so high,
they both were four feet higher than his eye.

And now we’re sideways headin’ for chain link.
My heart, but most my bowels begin to sink.
This all is gonna hurt so awful much,
but frantically I try a gentle touch
and with a gasp that’s filled with fear of death
he stops and shivers while I catch my breath.

I stroke him whispering while he grunts and moans.
Slow words that have no meaning past their tones.
It takes a while before he starts to walk
and I just let him wander while I talk.

Then everything gets quiet for a bit.
I sit real still so’s not to cause a fit.
The hump beneath my backside wants to sag.
I think I feel his hind feet start to drag,
so I get off and count this as a win,
but pull his head to left~ he still could spin.

I’m suckin’ dust and thinkin’, “That went well.
He really coulda bucked me clear to Hell.”
Could be I’m much too old for all this crap,
but I’d not trade it for a quiet nap.

At lunch I’m gonna own up all my sin,
‘cause Wednesday we both do this all again.