The rhythm of the ranch

This poem has been percolating for awhile, perhaps since twelfth grade when I wrote my last poem...35 years ago. Poems just aren’t my nature, but the rhythm of the ranch doesn’t lend itself to complete sentences.

The rhythm of the ranch

Waking. Light through the big window.
Stretching. Smooch does it first. I agree.
Whining. The cats want breakfast. They can wait.
Smooch out the door, chasing, patrolling.
Moving brushing dressing, in yesterday’s clothes.
“Ok, I’ll feed you now, but nobody likes a whiner.”
Gathering. Dog food in this bowl, pig food in this cup.
Me out the door.

“G’morning, boys!”
Screeching.
“Wynonna, you make too much noise.”
Hugging George. Hugging Alan. How good that feels.
Checking Lyle, all’s well, relief.
Hugging Lyle? Maybe yes, maybe no.
Checking Hank, all’s well, no surprise.
Scratching his belly, his relief.
“Deets! You’re back.” My relief.
Feeding.
Scooping listening – the song birds are back.
Watching, the sun come up over the mesa.

Shower time, fresh clothes.
Coffee.
Headlines weather forecasts blogging, the new social interaction.
Coffee.

Earning – responding scheduling organizing.
Ringing. Lord how I hate that phone.
Creating designing – the good part.
Distractions. Burros wrestling, Smooch barking.
Trespassers? Just cows, maybe pronghorns.

Break time.
Feeding scooping watering spreading hauling eating.
New headlines, new postings. Wouldn’t want to miss anything.

Earning.
Distractions. Laundry on company time.
Stopping. Enough for one day.

Feeding scooping.
Listening, to four mouths chewing.
Stopping, just to listen.

Walking. NPR or shuffle songs?  
Dancing down the road. No NPR today.

Then the best time.  Pasture time.
Being – a horse.
Leading following stopping, walking on.
Walking back alone.

Scrounging, rarely cooking, eating.
A little TV.

Time for bed but one more check.
Feeding.
G’night, boys.

Lights out.
Except for the little tv.
Curling, under the covers.
G’night, Smooch.
Dreaming.
Waking.