THE HACK STABLE

I wanted to ride
and enjoy the outside
cause I’d not ridden in ages.

But I had no horse
and, so in due course
I looked in the yellow pages.

Now I’d been out west
and I’d ridden the best
so I was really looking for fun.

But to my discontent,
under “horses for rent”
I could only find one.

It said “Come ride with us”
“and avoid all the fuss”
so I called and got the directions.

I expected much more
But it was, to my horror
an equestrian house of rejections.

Each horse that I saw
had missed its spring thaw
and had “Hag” tattooed on its butt.

Their backs would hold water,
and their coats looked like fodder,
and I’m sure their nerves had been cut.

I was given a pencil
or some sort of prehensile
with which to sign a release.

The words were too small
I could not see them at all,
and I had to sign on a crease.

A guy named Wil
asked my level of skill
In order to find me a horse.

I looked at the herd
and then uttered one word --
I said - I’m an “Expert,” of course.

If they had a horse hidden
that couldn’t be ridden
Then that’s who I wanted to ride.

So I made my request
- that I wanted their best
and he smiled and went back inside.

He came back with a bay
that was now turning gray
and said that his name was Buck.

I checked out his cinch
pulled it up just an inch.
Still smiling, Wil said, “Good Luck.”

Buck stood like a stone
not moving a bone
In spite of my efforts to go.

Neither word nor deed
would move this steed
In spite of all that I know.

I quickly got off
and said, with a scoff
I’ll lead him away from his stall.

So I walked away
while leading the bay
and Wil was loving it all.

With Wil out of sight
Buck saw the light.
So our ride had finally begun.

But walking quite slow
was as fast as he’d go
In spite of my efforts to run.

We soon came to a hill
and Buck stopped dead still
and refused all requests to go down.

I tried being nice
but he ignored my advice
and stubbornly stood his ground.

I angrily dismounted
‘cause being nice was discounted.
I tried pulling him down the hill.

My efforts did fail
so I began to flail
I’d abandoned all hope of good will.

But neither sticks nor stones
would move his old bones
Our ride was never resumed.

So for the next hour
I sat on old 'Sour'
and very quietly fumed.

Now Buck would have gone back
If I’d cut him some slack
and headed him back towards his stall.

But to return so early
would tell Wil, quite surely,
That I’d not ridden at all.

So when our time was all out
I turned him about
and Buck trotted home with pride.

And as we rode up to Wil
who’s smile was there still,
I said, “Thanks! Buck’s a hell of a ride.”

8/6/97