Tumbleweed Contention

For my birthday, the present I got made me yawn;
a vacation to wild west place, Dead and Gone.
O I know my wife meant well--that is what she said,
but I could not excite myself ‘bout something DEAD!

So I picked up my saddle and put on my spurs,
and I even packed bath towels that said His and Hers.
For one can’t be too careful in wild west bane
if you’re out on the range and you‘re caught in the rain.

Having traveled the trail, Dead and Gone soon appeared
and it was as if ghosts in the town had been feared.
There was sagebrush a-blowin’ on sidewalk and street,
and it looked as if Dead and Gone was incomplete.

Yet despite my snide knocking of wild west lame,
I decided to try it because I was game.
For my wife was a cowgirl and I was her steer,
and compared to the ghosts I had much more to fear.

So they gave us a room o’er the Long Branch Saloon;
on the player piano we heard this one tune.
It was, I shot the Sheriff, so I said to Lee,
“Maybe out here they also shoot the deputy.”

We were given a ticket to a rodeo;
ace of spades with a bullet hole--so apropos.
But the event itself had such limited scope
that the doggies themselves had to tie their own rope.

Then we came to an O.K. Corral on the way,
and we met Wyatt Earp who had this much to say:
“This is our famous corral,” his face turning red,
“But instead of a gunfight, we insult instead.”

When a sharpshooter show was announced in the back,
I thought it might be fun to see firearm knack.
But I could not refrain from an utter of, “Darn,”
when I saw that their aim was the side of a barn.

The two horses we rode on our last day out west
knelt like camels so much we had mane in our chest.
When we finally finished inglorious ride,
there were things that were raw like the things that we hide.

Through the night a coyote continued to howl;
at the break of the dawn I continued to growl.
In the pique of our parting we both gave a wave,
and we left Dead and Gone as the home of the grave.

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
September 1, 2013










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