Stockyards Championship Rodeo

Rodeo is red dirt, metal fence, dust clouds and paper back-numbers. Rodeo is “Good night Fort Worth, are y’all ready?!” Rodeo is bucking chute, cowboy hat, rope slipped taut over a calf’s neck. Rodeo is bull jumpin’, men hollerin’, and twenty-year-old slammed against the wall for the price of eight seconds of adrenaline. Rodeo is opposite hospital, you pay you get hurt. Rodeo is horse running barrels, sweat-stained tack, kids on sheep backs. Rodeo is bullfighter gets gored, gets stepped on, gets tossed. Rodeo is boy gets hung up, stretched out, flung around like a helicopter propellor. Rodeo is chasing glory, ending up with stitches and an ear-ringing concussion.

Oil money spills
over rodeo in
psychedelic sheen:
hot pink, turquoise,
lime green, & gold.


By Adriana Barker

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