Work to Do

By Rod Miller

A cold-jawed horse, and Wheaties.
I’m ready to do a man’s work.
When the sun comes up, I’ll start.
Dad says I’m ready.

I’m ready to do a man’s work.
By myself, for the first time.
Dad says I’m ready.
What if I get bucked off? I’m cold and sleepy.

By myself, for the first time.
No help, no help, no help.
What if I get bucked off?
What if all these cows explode?

No help, no help, no help.
But I’m big now. I’m big.
What if these cows explode?
What if they stampede, like in the movies?

But I’m big now. I’m big.
Dad says, “Good luck, Rod. Don’t fuck up.”
What if these cows stampede, like in the movies?
It would be wrong to cry now. I have work to do.
Dad says, “Good luck, Rod. Don’t fuck up.”
When the sun comes up, I’ll start.
It would be wrong to cry now. I have work to do.
A cold-jawed horse, and Wheaties.

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Categories: Issue 5, Poetry, Wyoming Workshops | Leave a comment

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