Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WHEN YOU'RE THROWED, by ANONYMOUS First Line: If a feller's been a-straddle Subject(s): Animals;cowboys;horses;ranch Life;west (u.s.); Southwest;pacific States | ||||||||
IF a feller's been a-straddle Since he's big enough to ride, And has had to sling his saddle On most any colored hide, Though it's nothin' they take pride in, Still most fellers I have knowed, If they ever done much ridin', Has at different times got throwed. All the boys start out together For the round-up some fine day When you're due to throw your leather On a little wall-eyed bay, An' he swells to beat the nation When you're cinchin' up the slack, An' he keeps an elevation In your saddle at the back. He stands still with feet a-sprawlin', An' his eye shows lots of white, An' he kinks his spinal column, An' his hide is puckered tight, He starts risin' an' a-jumpin', An' he strikes when you get near, An' you cuss him an' you thump him Till you get him by the ear, Then your right hand grabs the saddle An' you ketch your stirrup, too, An' you try to light a-straddle Like a woolly buckaroo; But he drops his head an' switches, Then he makes a backward jump, Out of reach your stirrup twitches But your right spur grabs his hump. An' "Stay with him!" shouts some feller; Though you know it's hope forlorn, Yet you'll show that you ain't yeller An' you choke the saddle horn. Then you feel one rein a-droppin' An' you know he's got his head; An' your shirt tail's out an' floppin'; An' the saddle pulls like lead. Then the boys all yell together Fit to make a feller sick: "Hey, you short horn, drop the leather! Fan his fat an' ride him slick!" Seems you're up-side-down an' flyin'; Then your spurs begin to slip. There's no further use in tryin', For the horn flies from your grip, An' you feel a vague sensation As upon the ground you roll, Like a violent separation 'Twixt your body an' your soul. Then you roll agin a hummock Where you lay an' gasp for breath, An' there's somethin' grips your stomach Like the finger-grips o' death. They all offers you prescriptions For the grip an' for the croup, An' they give you plain descriptions How you looped the spiral loop; They all swear you beat a circus Or a hoochy-koochy dance, Moppin' up the canon's surface With the bosom of your pants. Then you'll get up on your trotters, But you have a job to stand; For the landscape round you totters An' your collar's full o' sand. Lots of fellers give prescriptions How a broncho should be rode, But there's few that gives descriptions Of the times when they got throwed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WESTERN WAGONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET DRIVING WEST IN 1970 by ROBERT BLY IN THE HELLGATE WIND by MADELINE DEFREES A PERIOD PORTRAIT OF SYMPATHY by EDWARD DORN ASSORTED COMPLIMENTS by EDWARD DORN AT THE COWBOY PANEL by EDWARD DORN TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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