A Dr. Pepper and a Chick-O-Stick,
Breakfast on the road,
When dress shoes and shirt and tie
Were pushed aside in the closet,
Exchanged for cowboy boots,
And a Wrangler button-down shirt,
Both well worn.
We climbed inside an old truck,
Me and my dad,
To head out to his ranch in Decatur.
To a small herd of Brangus —
To his herd.
I was afraid of horses,
I froze when cows came too close,
I was too skinny to be of any real help
With heavy bags of feed.
But he let me tag along.
Those mornings I woke up easy,
Excited.
Thinking.
It was like going to his office
Only better.
Phone calls and secretaries
Couldn’t interrupt.
I sat on the passenger side
Of the truck’s bench seat
And pulled the door, hard, to close it.
The hinges creaked
Before the door slammed shut,
A hint, I suppose,
That it had been awhile.
He cracked open his drink,
And unwrapped his candy bar.
“Ready?” he announced.
I grinned,
And scooted over, closer to him.
