Clover That I Overlooked Before

Billy goats butt heads and lock horns
In their pen on the other side
Of the dirt road that we live on.
Spring's here. Time to take it outside.

Folks drive in, fly in from other
Cities, counties, distant countries,
To run and bike in our red dust
In their bright athletic undies.

What a great place to be alive,
To run and jump and exercise
One's skills at dangling from bad cliffs,
Pitching tents, drinking, cracking wise.

This is ranch land in the winter
Where goats make cheese for creameries,
But it's bro-dude land by April,
Bursting at its own scenery.

Everyone's got a bit of chuff
In them, a bit of rivalry
In the madness, a silly thought
That winning rhymes with chivalry,

And it's grand recklessness returns
Each pagan St. Paddy's weekend,
Where red rocks still hold rattlesnakes,
To nip at sharp hoofs now and then.