Cutter Will

There comes to mind a bragging man

whose wondrous tales enthralled wary fans.

Seems he made a living on a horse.

To hear him say, he’d run the course

of every equine athletic event

from jumping master to parading gent.

He used to enter all categories;

if not the winner, certainly trainer.

His students won more trophies and ribbons.

His horses strode more agile than gibbons.

His only fault was a judge’s bad taste.

He always kept his horse in true pace.

When no one could take flight over a fence,

then he’d come to rescue, for recompense.

When no one could ride a rodeo bronc,

then he’d rode him down to a gentile trot.

When no one could beat an arena record,

then he met the challenge by at least a second.

Well, there’s annual event in Augusta, GA.

The town becomes “cutting town”, USA.

They call it Futurity and give it all honors:

auctions, parades, vendors and parlors.

Society mingles with average citizen

cause this is excitement, the best there has been.

Ol’ braggart just happened to make his way

to the stocks and the pens of big auction day.

Some watched as he spied each colt and filly.

He’d look in their eye, and judge their ability.

A run down each spine, soft blow in nostril,

lifting each hoof, he’d nod or he’d drop still.

Will picked him two and said to watch ‘em.

“They had the talent to become champion.”

Truly, most of the pack were just as pretty;

all candidates able, and bred for nobility.

Whether by repute of his boasting pallet,

or confidence in his averment and talent,

the bids gathered in for the horseflesh that night

gave outcome supporting unusual foresight.

So, being the hero of auction’s adventure,

he came once again to improve his tenure.

Next morning was practice, to warm the heart

of retired men, and stallion starts.

Someone suggested and one offered rein

of a much prized candidate of this years string.

Will said it had been quite some time

since riding such valuable steed sublime.

Borrowing chaps, and pulling up pants,

he lifted his head and held his stance.

Then held out the reins saying, “That’s all right.

I might mess his mind. That wouldn’t be bright.”

“No, really, go ahead.” said famous Buster.

“He has strong legs and ability to muster

all you can ask for and all you can take.

Put him at a cow and feel him rate!”

If this hand could add value at auction,

what value he’d add to this audition.

Though money is made with purse and precision,

advertising and style wrought giving permission.

By now, all Civic Center was watching to see

the mighty horse master’s ability.

While swinging in saddle, he slipped just a little.

Probably manure on a stirrup of metal.

A grin crossed his lips. Then they tightened.

Spectators expected thunder and lightning.

Slowly he turned to the herd, and gave nod.

The calves feathered perfectly. The horse remained calm

until the perfect choice singled out.

In anticipation, came whistles and shouts.

You must understand that in events like this

the same crowd exhibits, just in different pens.

Each trainer knows every animal entered.

And this was a horse! And a calf that centered!

The chance of a lifetime to see a great cutting.

Who was this rider, this stranger, dawning?

And why had one of the most famous vocals

allowed this prize to the hands of a local?

Suspense and tension were thick as could be.

The front stands were filling, not hardly a seat.

From where did they all come, trainers and families?

This was the morning to see daring agilities.

Did you follow the dominance of watching them saunter,

horse and rider, into cattle, undaunted?

Hardly a touch on rein or flank;

just eye to eye with the best calf in bank.

As horse lowered head, while calf leaned to left,

rider rolled shoulders, staring, daring, and deft.

Then calf darted right. A famous feat followed.

The equine was divine in his movement infallible.

But to wonder and amaze of all, appalling,

when the horse ducked and moved under great applauding,

who was left in the lurch, and who was falling?

The rider, the braggart, the horseman turned vaulting!

With air in his hands, and look of surprise,

jerked to one side and legs spread wide,

a gasp was heard, then the crowd fell silent.

Slow motion, it seemed, as rider dropped valiant.

At least he had sense to let go of reins

while the horse continued it’s cutting campaign.

The rider rolled under hooves and hamburger.

The herd trampled over his hat and back burner.

When the rumble was over, rider rose, not a stumble.

He gathered chapeaux, and strode, pride unruffled.

At the fence, his comments were still boaster prone:

“There’s always first times for a cowboy to be thrown.”

C Taylor, Jr.

02/24/2004

(Copyright applied for as part of a collection, hopefully coming soon to your bookstore!)