For Steve and Ted

Rod, Steve and Buster Wines, and neighbors branding in Ruby Valley

Slim comes back, reporting

After jeeping through the wood hills.

He brings home no surprises,

"Times are hard, there, for a drink."

It's hot and drouthy; by October,

Gardner Spring, and Willow

Are long dry; and Maverick

And Medicene, and Cherry

And Mountain seep a trickle.

They barely irrigate the feral horse

And the mule deer tracks that circle

Down from the brush to constant danger. 

God's creatures know

The lion and the hunters watch

      The water.

One old gelding lives alone

Up the draw from Willow Windmill.

He holds no commission, no command.

Fearlessly he limps up to the windmill

     In the daylight,

Stands by the pipe that split last winter,

Tries to slurp the gook that puddles

     In the trail.

It's not a fancy drink, but

These many vicious winters later,

He knows well he cannot walk too far.

The ranch that owns the windmill

Went broke, sold off the cattle.

Without them, there's no reason

     To repair. 

So the mule deer, and this gelding,

Innocent, thirsty victims

Of the interest rates that drove

     The lady down.

Among those of us who clamor

About respect for thirsty creatures

We hold our enviro-sensitivities

Aloft for all to see. . . .

Except to whine about wildlife problems,

Not one helpful hand was lifted.

Then two cowboys

     For the lady,

Steve and Ted, came in a pickup.

Brought a pipe and couple-wrenches,

Fixed the mainline to the stock tank,

     And then went back to work.

In this world, not one soul noticed.

No one took the time to thank them.

But the new pipe carries water

To the tank at Willow Windmill.

And one old gelding, tired and crippled,

     Gets a decent drink.