About Maurice Ehrhardt
The Big Plastic Bull
You have all heard the tale of the Strawberry Roan,
Of the many good cowboys that trickster has thrown;
About how the cuss sunfished and injured their pride,
When Mother Earth met them and slapped their backside.
I rode down to the state that reveres the lone star,
Tied my reins to a rail and walked into a bar
Where a big plastic bull is all saddled and tied
For buckaroo pros and dude cowboys to ride.
There was never a mustang that I could not tame,
But this creature I see is without tail or mane.
With my feet in the stirrups while striding the steed,
I drop in a coin so the ride will proceed.
There are buttons to press, one for stop, one for go.
There is one for high speed and another for slow.
When I push the slow button, the brute starts to buck.
I wave my sombrero and pray for good luck.
Then I cling to my rope, put my spurs to the flanks,
Say, Giddyap now you old plug, do your pranks.
The machine then takes off with an ungodly squeal,
As it starts in a-dancing the Virginia Reel.
Well, I said to myself, this is play for a child,
Then I pushed the High Speed and the critter went wild
With pulsations and plummets, yet I'm still on top;
Though I can't find the button that tells it to stop!
By this time the Bar Flies are all gathered around
And I'm hoping the floor is as soft as the ground.
For a moment or two about all I can see
Is some Human Hyenas a-laughing at me.
Take me up to the mountains or out to the plains,
Or to the Chiropractor to relieve my pains.
If I ever can heal all the holes in my hide.
I shall never again take a Plastic Bull ride.
© 2003, Maurice Ehrhardt
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.
About Maurice Ehrhardt:
I was born in Wisconsin in 1912 and been around cattle most of my life. In 1963 I joined Wisconsin Regional Writers Poetry Round Robin. When I retired, my wife and I spent twenty two winters in Arizona. There I joined the Tri City Poetry Society. On one of our cross country trips I learned of the sport of riding mechanical bulls. I have always enjoyed writing fun poetry. My imagination led me to write "The Big Plastic Bull." I have also written three chap books of poetry. Some of them contain cowboy verse.
When we asked Maurice where he lives now, he told us:
I presently live in a house I built in 1978 with the help of friends, near Lomira, WI. I had my own sawmill. Sawed all the lumber, planed the studs
and framing myself. The red oak used for finishing was given to me by a friend. I had this finished at a woodworking shop.
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