A Wrangler's Reckless Writings: Forgot Breakfast

I tiptoed with my wool socks on, across the icy floor. Then made a leap and jumped to the refrigerator door.

There were no eggs and bacon and I’d guess a whole lot more. It was time to buy some groceries at Sam Patch’s Country Store.

I cranked up my old Chevy, turned the heater on inside. It would take an age to warm up being 5 degrees outside.

It didn’t make a lick of sense to sit cold in the seat. So, I left the truck a running, went inside to soak up heat.

My easy chair was beckoning, “Just sit here for a spell.” Then I drifted off to sleep. I should have set a wake-up bell.

I swear it was just minutes ‘fore I jumped myself awake. My mind was still a fog and so I stole a longer break?

I listened to a noise outside, my neighbor’s water pump. They always leave it running. Like to haul it to the dump!

I drifted off to sleep again for two more hours or so. Then I woke up so confused and did I hear a rooster crow?

My brain was so befuddled. Guess I needed extra sleep. But the clock showed 1 p.m. I’d never slept so doggone deep.

And that irksome noise was there again, my neighbor’s noisy gear. I wanted so to drag the junk clean into the next year.

So, I thought I’d drive on over. Maybe read the riot act. Or trash the pump with my Massey tractor driving full impact.

When I stepped out to the carport, saw my truck idling away. I warmed it five whole hours. I was speechless, so to say.

Breakfast time had come and gone, guzzled hours of spendy fuel. I don’t believe there’s been a day where I felt more like a fool.

So, I drove down to Sam Patch’s store with lunch now on my mind. And I must admit my Chevy was the warmest ride you’d find.

Bryce Angell is a poet of cowboys, farm life and poems of everyday life. He located in Island Park, Idaho. He can be reached via email at angellranch62@gmail.com.