Monday, August 25, 2008

Home Away From Home

Just for grins I am posting the poem below that I wrote back in March, 1990, when I thought I was something of a cowboy poet....

Home Away From Home
A one-ton club-cab pickup
Parked out front of Joe's cafe,
Guarded by a surley pup
That keeps the world at bay.

A thirty-thirty on a rack
That hangs behind the seat
Almost covered by spare tack
Just thrown in, none too neat.

A brass spitoon sits on the dash
That years back held a shine,
But, now is filled with mouldering mash
And covered up with grime.

Sale receipts and tally sheets
Are piled up here and there;
Flyers from the auction meets
Just thrown in without care.

A stray left glove lays on the floor
Among the ground-in dirt
With empty snuff can lids galore
And a once-clean extra shirt.

The left rear fender's dented in;
The imprint of a cow
Who battled rope but didn't win
And into it did plow.

Speckled mud from grill to ball,
This master of the road
Never even threats to stall
While pulling heavy load.

Lived-in, sure, and much abused
Made for one to roam;
O'er many a hard mile it has cruised,
This cowboy's second home.

3 comments:

The Hermit said...

I like that poem.

Chris McClure aka Panhandle Poet said...

Thank you, Hermit!

Barbara Martin said...

Reminded me of my old pickup, except I didn't have a spitoon. I did have a .30-.06 and a Doberman who told strangers in no uncertain terms to stay away.

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