Swollen knuckles tell the story.
These hands have held too many ropes,
Gripped too many bareback riggins.
Call it arthritis if you must.
I call it hands on experience
Like the scar on my shin from a broad axe,
A weakened knee from a bronc dancing
On it in a dusty Colorado corral.
A long mark on the wrist from repairs
Resulting from a morning buck-off.
Scars, they say, tell better stories
Than pen and ink tattoos. 
That is problematic since few sit still
For the stories that are always forthcoming.