A Cowboy, Through and Through



He can hear the wranglers call
And his spurs jangle as he walks
Feels his voice begin to deepen
And slow to a drawl when he talks

Next the old couch disappears,
A chuckwagon in its place
Living room walls melt away
And the prairie wind hits his face

All day long he rides the range,
Going up and down the hall
The other cowpokes can only stare
For he outdoes them all

When bed-time comes and mama scolds
He tries to find the words to say:
A night-herder’s work is no game
Now who will keep the rustlers away?

The next day he awakens to find
A roaring crowd in his room
For now he competes in a rodeo,
Busting a bronc in the shape of a broom

As he gets up on the hurricane deck,
No distraction does he heed
He closes his eyes and counts to eight,
Clinging expertly to his steed

For another day he defends his title
As the world’s greatest twister
He solemnly accepts a cardboard buckle,
Presented by his sister

Of herding and roping he never tires,
Nor considers another game, instead
He proudly puts on boots and chaps
And places his Stetson on his head

Now his parents will shake their heads and tell him
Not to give these games too much thought
One day he’ll grow up to be a lawyer,
A teacher or a doctor, as he ought

But what these city slickers have forgotten
(As so many of them do)
Is that a little boy’s most fervent dream
Is to be a cowboy, through and through

This award-winning poem was written by Megan Bull of Penticton, B.C. She was awarded one of the Mike Puhallo Memorial Scholarships at the 2016 Kamloops Cowboy Festival.