I ran across one of my few attempts at cowboy poetry and thought you might find it to possess a certain rustic charm. Who knows? Perhaps it’s even a useful comment on those lessons from life that are often learned the hard way.
I ain’t no famed psychologist.
Don’t got no Ph.D.
But I’ve found me a “lifestyle trend”
That’s not real plain to see.
The up-and-comin’ cowpoke
Must be socially correct.
He cain’t jist scrape his boots off,
If he aims to win respect.
No, if a man of vision
Would with gentry walk among,
That feller cain’t jist watch his steers,
He’s got to watch his tongue.
S’pose days of hard trail ridin’
Has left him stiff and tender.
If he don’t choose his words right
He’ll offend the other gender.
He cain’t jist hike his jeans and moan,
“My saddle sores is fabled!”
Instead, he says, “Where I sit down
Is functionally disabled.”
The moral of my little tale?
Don’t blame yore maw and paw.
If you cain’t seem to git ahead,
Jist rope and tie yore jaw.