NEAL A. ROBERTSON
Me and Ike were snapping broncs,
Out on the six-bar-oh,
We'd been at it sixty days,
And work was gettin' slow.
We only had 'bout thirty nags,
And they weren't really wild,
The work that we'd been hired to do,
Coulda' been done by a child.
Now we were getting bored with work,
And why, I'll never know,
But Ike asked me in a joking way,
"Could you ride a buffalo"?
The Fort Sill Reservation,
Was just across the way,
And we could see the bison grazing,
By the light of day.
The only problem I could see,
Was how to cut one out,
And get my circingle 'round his belly,
And still be able to mount.
So early one morning before sun-up,
We went thru the big iron gate,
We eased an old bull in the corral,
And he was full of hate.
He'd been following a cow in heat,
That's how we lured him in,
Then we turned the old cow loose,
When we got him in the pen.
We got him in a squeeze chute,
I got my rope around his belly,
I climbed aboard, Said "Let 'er rip,"
His old hump was awful smelly.
Well, he came out a running,
And didn't buck at all,
But his beller woke up all the herd,
They came to his beck and call.
He went running across the pasture,
The others all took heed,
And they came running after him,
We now had a stampede.
I didn't dare jump off for fear,
Of being trampled under,
The herd was coming fast behind,
Their hooves sounded just like thunder.
So I held on tight and said some prayers,
Lots of things, I was hopin,'
Then I realized a big mistake,
We'd left the dang gate open.
Well, the herd shot thru that gate,
With me out in the lead,
We headed down route 66,
Other signs, I could not read.
A Highway Patrolman came into view,
He pulled out of a thicket,
I waved to him as we went by,
I thought, What's one more ticket.
Then a teenager on a skateboard,
Out for an early run,
Came weaving thru the galloping herd,
And he was having fun.
He pulled up along side of me,
And offered his assistance,
I slid off the bull onto his board,
The herd gave us some distance.
I know that most of this here poem,
May sound somewhat absurd,
But we proved Roger Miller wrong,
You CAN skate in a buffalo herd.
© 2001 Neal A. Robertson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
What's New | Poems | Search
Features | Events
The BAR-D Roundup | Cowboy Poetry Week
Subscribe | Newsletter | Contact Us
Authors retain copyright to their work; obtain an author's
permission before using a poem in any form.
CowboyPoetry.com is a project of the Center for Western and Cowboy Poetry, Inc., a Federal and California tax-exempt non-profit 501 (c) (3) organization.
Site copyright information