College National Finals Rodeo
by Lorri Frisbee
College National Finals Rodeo
Raised outside in the shadow of mountains, I weeded
the garden, snacked on sweet peas and rhubarb, while my father
a history major
cooked short-order at the Holiday Inn. A quiet life, and languid.
Of all the tiny towns in the middle of nowhere, mine
was always just a little more intellectual, a little more affordable,
an escape for the humbly educated, the people willing to make less to live more.
But every summer the College National Finals came to town, that week long embarrassment
of rodeo queens, bull riders and calf-ropers, redneck royalty in their
shiny new pickups, pulling airbrushed horse trailers. The enormous belt buckles.
The boots that cost more than a month’s rent.
Who could forget the barrel racer from Casper, her hair groomed until it was plastic,
she rode with a whip between her teeth. And how, drunk one night, she crashed
her truck into a cottonwood tree, driving back from shooting signs on a country road.
The Chronicle ran her story as one of daring young talent cut short.
But on Friday night the Rocking ‘R’ was filled
beyond capacity, its carpet
so soaked with dollar beers, it was like two-stepping on a sponge.
A week when women and men
were slept with, fought over,
all hotels rooms trashed, all rivals defeated, it was a carnival
we put on for people from other places, living out their fantasy of the West.
How we spent the next days cleaning up after them,
counting the meager tips, vacuuming errant rhinestones
from under motel beds.
Lorri Frisbee is a poet and artist based in Denver. She grew up in Bozeman, Montana, before it became a getaway for the rich and famous. She is fascinated with the quiet conflicts that gentrification has brought to her hometown, and with the moments that have passed into cultural obsolescence—whether it’s drive-in movie theaters or old cowboy bars. To see more of her work visit lorrifrisbee.com or follow her Instagram account @SIZLfactory.