Stubborn – poetic expression

Walking down from my home
Along well-trodden dusty tracks
Crossing dried out creek beds
That long for spitting raindrops
To fill their salty cracks
Brittle saltbushes cling
To soil weathered red.
On arrival at the Post office
That serves as the general store
I seek shelter in the shadow
On the southern facing wall
A Saturday morning vigil
I keep to meet my friend.
Flour, salt, drum tobacco and papers
His packs of Bex powders
His rations for the week ahead.
He keeps his own time
Arriving on his Chestnut
Quarter horse he’s bred
He’s a boundary rider
For a local sheep station spread

At no promised hour
Just when he arrives
Our greetings never more 
Than a few polite words
Mine “Hugger”
His “Mate”
As he descends
From his saddle
Hands me the reins
I do my usual act 
And pat the horses’ mane
I’m ten years old
I’m totally chuffed
Then I hear then see
Skeeter Johnston
And his gang
Have decided this week
To turn up
To play being tough
As usual they try
To give me a hard time
I take pride
In my ability
To ignore their stupidity
I keep patting the horse neck 
Feeling good within myself
Hugger appears on the steps
And surveys a common sight
Showing distain with his eyes
He mounts his horse
Leans down and smiles
And takes the reins
From my childish hands
To cries of “Hugger the Bugger”
They chase his trotting horse
Throwing stones at his parting back
He leaves the town at a gallop
To a “Humpy” I have never been
Somewhere out beyond
The airport south
In a land to far
For my childish exploits
To reach and discover
His home in the scrub.
I never did find out
Who or why he lived
In such a nomadic way
I never knew at ten
That some men
Sought solitude
Above the need for normality
Perhaps he was just too stubborn
To set in his way to make friends.

PJR    13.02.2023