On a hot summer afternoon, I was driving home from Killeen, TX to Leander, TX after a hard day's work digging out a fire scene. I spotted an old pick-up truck parked on the road side with the bed full of watermelons. I knew my wife loved watermelon, so I stopped to see if I could get a good one. An older gentleman got out of his lawn chair and met me at the back of the truck. He introduced himself as Joe Hood, former Rodeo Champion. I enjoyed his company for quite a while and he was the inspiration for this poem.
OLD
RODEO CHAMP
I saw an old pickup all
loaded with melons
one hot summer’s evening not
too far from Austin.
Sitting beside it, a graying
bent cowboy
in faded blue Wranglers watching
the cars pass.
I stopped, we spoke, he arose
from his lawn chair,
struggled to stand, and walked
to his truck’s bed.
“Good ones?” I asked. “Sweet ones?”
He nodded. “Three dollars a piece or two for a five
spot.”
“Pick me a good one.” I said
as we stood there.
He turned a few over, and looked
at their skin.
“Rabbits won’t scratch the
ones that aren’t sweet.”
He said nonchalantly, his
blue eyes a’ sparkle.
I found a scarred one and
placed it aside.
“I’m Dennis,” I offered.
“I’m Joe,” he replied
“Did you farm all your
life?
He answered, “No”.
Then I stood there and
listened for two hours or so.
“I’m a Rodeo Champ.” He
smiled as he spoke.
“Or I was through the
fifties, that’s a few years ago.”
“I did it all. Rough stock, ropin’.
“We had to back then - the purses
were small.”
“Bulls were my favorite. Everyone liked them.
I got extra money when side
bets were made.”
He told me about it, the good
rides, the great ones.
Clay Bank, Poison Ivy, the
rankest of all.
Each ride was re-told from
cinching to buzzer.
The bucks, the twists, the
bruising come downs.
I finally left. He was smiling and waving.
Three bucks and two hours well
spent for us both.
Dennis Price
