The Headaches of a Professional

ã 1997 by Darryl Clark

There was three of us that spring day
in a line cabin way up high,
me and Pete and three-fingered Bill
as Sun up was just about nigh;

rain and lightnin’ were heavy that mornin’ --
our clothes still wet from the night before --
tired and cold, hungry and cross,
dreadin' the touch of that old cold floor.

Pete scampered for the fireplace
and tossed on a couple a logs.
"This is horrible", Bill whined.
"We're cowboys, not mutty ol’ dogs!"

As I lay shiverin’ in bed,
both feet uncovered and bare,
I took exception to the conditions
and decided I wasn’t goin’ nowhere.

"Boys," I said, "we’re professionals,
about that there can’t be no doubt."
"So…given the weather today…
I don’t think we ought to go out."

My fellow cowpokes agreed quite readily;
brought out cards and two bottles of whiskey.
cow

Forgotten were thoughts of cold, and cows,
wet clothing, and trails so risky.

It was noon when we finished the whiskey;
the amber fluid had given us spunk.
We decided to give the weather a look
(I admit we were drunk as a skunk).

Ol’ Bill fell face down in a mud hole --
oh, that ground was mighty slick --
and Pete was injured quite badly
when he poked himself in the eye with a stick.

I called ‘em "clumsy and sissies".
"YOU can’t handle your liquor!"
Said, "I’m gonna ride this new green bronc
and show ya how to handle a kicker."

He pitched me into an ol’ blue spruce,
where needles poked and I hurt my knee.
I swore that I’d kill that horse...
if I could just find a way to get free.

Both boys came runnin’ to help me,
Pete's bad eye overlookin' that rut,
he tripped and staggered into the horse;
which jumped and kicked Bill in the gut.

As soon as he got his wind back,
Bill punched Pete right in his grin.
Pete went down, but came up with a rock,
threw it and hit ME square on the chin!

Now we were ready to go at it --
knuckle and skull, without any rules.
When it dawned on us what we looked like,
we began to laugh like a trio of fools.

We sat down by the cabin door,
sharin’ a chuckle at our drunken misdeeds.
But soon all our heads went to poundin’;
wasn’t long, we were miserable, indeed.

We suffered mightily from rotgut whiskey,
stomachs heavin' and noggins all achin’.
It was mornin’ before we could eat
and, then, only a small bit of bacon.

We were happy to go back to work,
vowing never to do it again.
Sleet pelted us as we left the corral --
three proud, but humbled, men.

I learned a valuable lesson that day:

Professionals don’t need to be coddled
and I‘d rather face the lightnin’ outside
than the kind from inside a bottle!

About Darryl Clark

neon Texas sign Darryl Clark has spent thirty of his thirty six years growing up and living in Texas (in fact, grew up outside the oldest town in Texas, Nacogdoches). "My family was in the cow business, and my brother still has his own place," states Darryl. He says he's had "the opportunity" to live in many places throughout that great state, and for three years lived in South Dakota. "I cowboyed growing up and knew and saw some good hands. Fortunately, my job with an animal nutrition company keeps me in touch with a lot of a cattlemen (and women) throughout the west. It also allows me to visit parts of this country that I dearly love (Wyoming, west river South and North Dakota, California, Montana, and Colorado...occasionally Idaho and Utah and, of course, TEXAS). I don't ever want to lose that contact because these are the people and country that I care about the most."

His written works reveal the man's true feelings about a way of life, certain places and people he has known, and are clearly based on a lifetime of observation and experience. Case in point: Bronco May, a good friend of Darryl's whose father was a lifelong professional on a ranch in Vega, Texas, tells about how his father could roll a cigarette with one hand. "Now, that's western!" exclaims Darryl.

Living in Georgia now, Darryl Clark resides near the base of the Appalachian mountains where he keeps a few horses, works a little leather, writes poetry and "...unfortunately," he adds, "builds fence." "They're all small reminders of who I am and where I came from."

Wish we had the server space to be able to post every poem this cowboy submitted, but stating Mr. Clark has kindly agreed to allow us to post his email address and says he'd love to hear from you will have to suffice. Chances are you can start your email program and begin a new message to him by clicking on Darryl Clark's email address of: DClark@ANU.RPNA.COM

Tell him howdy for me and that cj says, "Well done."

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