Old Ben brought chiles to the fire
and claimed they barely bit.
He dropped three in the supper pot.
The spoon stood up in it.
We passed the bowl from hand to hand.
The cook began to grin.
Ben reached for water, missed his cup,
and asked to try again.
At dawn he packed a milder sack.
We never let him forget:
a cowboy can outride a storm
and lose to supper yet.
An editorial revision for the SalarsNet poetry collection, based on the page.
Loading comments…