-- a poem by Whitney Ward--

Montana's Biggest Weekend

Labor Day in Dillon, MT:
More a cowboy holiday than a socialist one.
I'm selling souvenir programs
At the Rodeo's east entrance,
Smiling at winks from old men in Wranglers
Until they surrender another three dollars
In support of BCHS cross-country.

When my money apron bulges,
I deliver the profits for counting,
By the rodeo Treasurer--
"How are ticket sales, Mom?"
Too busy to chat, she tosses me
A Coke from the ice-filled water trough
At the frantic concession booth
Where they shove wads of dollar bills into her hands.
She escapes to money-room-isolation to count them, twice.

I mosey to the Old Timer's Booth
Uncomfortably near the bullpens.
Dad's there, complaining about being asked to work every year
Between laughs with his buddies and free Budweiser's.
I buy a "Old Timer's Burger,"
And watch them place raw beef on the grimy grill.
Dad wraps the burger in white tissue paper and
I carry it to the concessions beneath the grandstands
Where my brother hands me a blue cotton candy,
No charge.

The arena fills with dust
And the smell of grease and manure and stale beer,
Spilled so my feet stick to the bleachers
As I search for my seat: number 46,
Black digits I stenciled on as a child
Wearing red western boots and a feathered cowgirl hat.
Now I'm wearing tie-dye and Birkenstocks
Sitting next to a couple from Vermont
Who pronounce it Rod-a-o.
I want to tell them that's just a street in LA,
But before I have the chance,
They're discussing their anticipation of bull riding
(Scheduled as the finale so tourists stay)
But every one knows that saddle-bronc is the classic event.
And we're cheering for the local kids
And the National Finals' Champs just as loud
Cause they're all getting bruised the same
And I explain breaking the barrier,
And spurring on the first jump out,
Suppressing my laughter at the outsiders' excitement
Finishing off the burger and Coke
And getting sticky fingers from the cotton candy.
I glance across the arena,
And contemplate how long eight seconds can really last.

 

- - by Whitney Ward