He is six feet nine
but only in his mind.
His riding skills honed,
but yet to be shown.

He drinks quite a lot
and his teeth are all shot.
He likes to use dip
and has a stained lip.

He likes to play pool
and thinks he is cool.
With women he’s not
and quickly forgot.

He’s got hay in his pockets
and snot on his sleeve,
He talks too much
and when you ask, he won’t leave.

He drives an old wreck
and swears like all heck
And when it comes to style
he’s been gone quite a while.

He has an x-wife
who helped make him mean.
and probably some kids
that he’s never seen.

His pants are all jeans.
He don’t own any suits.
He has an old dog
That pees on his boots

He has terrible taste
in women and wine.
He’s a loner for sure.
He’s one of a kind.

But horses don’t care
that he likes to swear
or dress like a clown
and hang out in town.

His name may be Clyde
or Dug or Dell,
as long as it’s short
and easy to spell.

You’ve probably seen him
in bars or in jail,
but when it comes time to ride
he’ll be there without fail.


Dedicated to Dug, who's last name no one remenbers, and to Clyde, who no one wants to remember. Dell is not a wrangler, but he sells horse trailers and just happened to have a name that worked for this poem.