Eight Miles Left Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

With ten more miles of wire
my horse wants to turn back

There's dark clouds over the mountain
just a small tent in my sack

The fence line sits all busted
from two bulls that went astray

They both missed being neutered
last year on roundup day

My hands are cold and blistered
that salve jar all but gone

Two wolves begin to howling
that lonesome prairie song

The storm clouds now have thickened
light pulls its covers back

Just one more night on the western slope
—with eight miles left to track

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March,2018)