Prairie Fires
Whipping hair,
Horsehair,
Lances,
Strips of leather,
Like blowing flags,
Like prairie fires,
Flashing fast on the grass,
Sweeping across open fields,
Fort Hays rising,
On the horizon,
As the flame flickers,
Zip-
CRACK!
Suddenly stifled,
Zip-
CRACK!
Not by the rifles,
Zip- Zip-
CRACK! CRACK!
But by whips of wind,
Lashing white-hot,
From the East.
Winter Work
Bought things I needed
For ranch work
In Kansas cold
From used ads
Work boots, the ad said
Worn three months
Half-brown and cowboy-style
Like the Texan who sold them
Steel toed and stomp-proof
Water resistant and insulated
The insides sweet
With fabric softener scent
Pipefitter, he said
What do you do?
For work, he meant
So I told him
I’m trying to be a writer,
I said
While trying on his boots
And he smiled
He repeated the words
To himself
Trying to be a writer
A writer, buying his old boots
A writer, he said it again
As though I’d told him
Television game show host, or,
Professional ice skating announcer
Guess I could’ve said,
Cowboy or Ranch Hand
But the writing that winter
Was the hardest work I’d ever done.
In 7th grade, Nik Bristow saved another kid’s life (Heimlich). In high school, he was impeached from the student council. He holds the record for the fastest crossing of the contiguous United States in an alternative fuel vehicle (See: Willie Run ’08). He’s both nicer and meaner than he looks.