The wrangler saddled horses for us to ride
then dropped the reins and limped away,
no word of how or where, no hired guide,
no map no trail no one tracking our day.
Across a field, a meadow, along a county road,
into and out of a McDonald’s drive-thru,
Ellen and I trotted horses and strode
up to a hilltop with a panoramic view.
Below lay a swath of motels and homes,
a Ponderosa sign blinking All You Can Eat,
pick-up trucks hauling gasoline drums,
smoke spewing from a meat packing plant.
I knew as we lingered above the din
I would never feel this free again.