by Mark Munzert
A wet, cold, blustery day, one you wouldn’t term a winner.
Ten minutes out of work and I’m heading west towards dinner.
I punch the gas and zoom right past a farm ‘wide load’.
Up ahead, two cars pullin’ to the side of the road.
‘mergency flashers engaged, high-heels exits her SUV.
The other, a jogging portly suit, waving arms like she.
I stayed ‘left’ to give their cars room.
Then I saw the impending doom.
Two horses running scared, parallel this four lane strip.
I yank the wheel ‘right’ keepin’ a real tight grip.
I’m 400 or so feet past.
Screech to the shoulder, reverse torque fast.
Grab a rope out the old gear box.
Scamper down the roadside drainage rocks.
There is no fence in sight.
These two are filled with fright.
They turn and kick with each passing car.
The hectic highway, none too far.
Waving arms and come hither whistler’s guard the road’s edge.
I’ll try to push ‘em away from the road and towards the hedge.
I motion the helping humans to stay calm.
These two Quarters a loose wire bomb.
There’s a house a fair distance away.
Adjacent this crop field of cut hay.
They were agitated, fearful, still in flight mode.
In seconds, they could be on that road.
One blanketed, neither a halter.
Blocking position, their path to alter.
As I approach, the ‘boys’ are further nerved.
They jogged away, sashayed and swerved.
I stepped in and back a time or two.
Like shaking hands with someone new.
I fared well enough to draw the rope about one’s neck.
Figuring so far we’ve averted a wreck.
Initially, they didn’t want to move.
Relaxing sounds and gestures put me in their groove.
The soil was wet and every step they’d sink.
I gave the roped boy time to think.
I waited for them to respond to my lead.
It took a minute of patience for the untied to heed.
Drivers had pulled over to ostensibly aide.
Beeped their horns as we came down the grade.
SUV lady walked parallel on the field’s border.
Offering her scarf to me to tie for the pony’s order.
I asked, “which of you is the pony?”
We laughed. By now I was their crony.
Here comes a double XL Carhartt and his very relieved better half.
She admonishing the horses for their venturing gaffe.
Conjoined in a field, handshake and thanks to the roadside crew.
No big deal, just what a horse lover would do.
Mark Munzert has been branded ‘the Cowboy Poet of the Northeast’ as his present home is in upstate New York’s Mountains region. The ranch-hand, descendant of horse-folk, cow-losopher performs regularly at Western events, dude ranches, and many Cowboy Gatherings. Contact him at 315-480-7586 or firstname.lastname@example.org.