Poor Maw, she tried to make it look
like dyin' was God's will,
but I had figured God, like Dad,
left, moved up to Boville.
I itched to see Shoshone Caves,
Fort Hall and things beyond.
With jumpin' beans loose in my jeans,
Maw called me Vagabond.
Maw went along with all my schemes,
no nag to settle down;
she'd made that blunder earlier--
thought that's why Dad left town.
But step-dad Gayle, he ranted, said
"Book larnin's your best bet
to git a job, a house, a wife,
and learn to manage debt."
His head is full o'notions
and his pocket's full o' Skoal.
I thumbed my nose and went my way,
found work: packed peat at Mann's.
Got tired and quit, but couldn't lose
the stench on my two hands.
I hitched to Preston after that;
we stopped for beer, buffet.
The trucker, he played snooker, pool.
I met a farmer, Ray,
who needed five good wranglin' hands
for cows he meant to buy.
The pay? Four-hundred every week!
(The luck of my buckeye.)
His head is full o' notions
and his pocket's full o' Skoal.
Picked up some gear, reported in;
his wife gave me the creeps.
She sneered, her eyes bored through. Does she
plan evil while she sleeps?
We found the cattle easily
then hell took paradise;
Ray wrote bad checks to pay for them,
resold at market price.
They'd planned a way to save their hides;
we hadn't looked ahead.
Like my prediction, I died young,
gunned down with slugs of lead.
His pockets may be full of Skoal
but 'is back is full of lead.
~~
Devised from a news article back in the early 2000s. Published in HEROES FROM HACKLAND, Summer, 2003, the late Mike Grogan, Arkadelphia, editor and publisher.
c 2016 PL dba lovepat press
fun poem. Hard to imagine you as the persona. :)
ReplyDeleteI had hopes he go home and settle down, but this rings more true to life and ballad.
ReplyDelete