Rodeo Riders Poem by Gert Strydom

Something draws them back
and back again,
maybe it’s adrenaline.

The thrill of feeling
an angry shivering bull
beneath you

and when the pistol whips
leaping into the pen
and animal and man

jumping up and down
into to the air
for a short moment as one.

Landing in the mud
avoiding flashing hoofs and horns,
scrambling away

with Stetson hats in hands
brushing Levi jeans clean,
smiling at the ecstasy of victory

and those fearless men
are going back to the pen again
as if never spent
right through the Cheyenne autumn.

Moments in time
of glory and humiliation
is burnt into the memory

and as time passes by
yesterday’s heroes
becomes today’s pot bellied men

who page through albums
with photographs,
sometimes just in the mind,
never forgetting the thrill.