One hundred fifty years ago cowboys would come off the range, hitch their ponies to the post in front of the local saloon, and go in and drink sarsaparillas. The horses rested at the hitching post and cooled themselves at the water trough. The cowboys got out of the wind and refreshed themselves with soft-drinks. This romantic half-truth kept the peace on the old range and allowed white men and native americans to cooperate and prosper- sometimes. Other times not so much… At any rate the old reliable equine has been replaced by the motorcycle.
Sweating horses, hitching post-
long past; shadows of a cowboy’s ghost.
At Starbucks now my ride doth rest;
Blue chrome reflects my drink request.
Horse power measured digit one,
saddle, spurs and hat with gun;
Today a ride of grumbling haste-
Horses thunder, high-test grace.
Reigns of leather, bridle held,
Twelve hundred pounds of muscle meld-
Progress turned horse flesh to steel;
side-stand tilts, V-twin revealed.
Long ago the horses ruled,
hitching post and water cooled.
Modern rides; two wheels might roll-
electronic lock controlled.