My 6 Year Old Son Will Not Listen To Me Come to the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering

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Come to the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering

Well, you don’t want to lose it do you?

The National Cowboy Poetry Gathering is held in Elko, Nevada. This year it starts tomorrow (Friday, February 3, 2006 and ends on Sunday, February 5, 2005). At least I think that’s where it starts and ends. Our newspaper didn’t bother to give the dates. Everyone knows it’s on this weekend.

You can’t get to Elko where you live. You could go to http://www.elkonevada.com or call the Chamber at 775-738-7135 if you want to try it. Here’s a toll-free number that can get you information: 800-248-3556.

There are many things to do at the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering. They cost money but my newspaper says kids are free at “ticketless” daytime events. That’s Idaho talk. I think it means. Children do not have to pay for the free daytime events. Duh!

So what can you do? You play, eat, and listen to cowboy music. That way you won’t have to listen to the monotone of shepherd poets reading there stuff about manure, bobbed wire, and lonesome mesas. (Mesa means “table” in Spanish. A flat land hunt is a mesa that you have to look up to as in “See that creature up over the mesa? I guess you know that a creature could be a horse or a cow.

I read some of my poems at such an event when I lived in Payson, Arizona. About a million people were wondering around the park, eating grilled bratwurst and washing it down with cola drinks. I think there were probably ten people listening to me read my poetry. My wife was one of them so make that about nine.

So that you can see why no one listened to me and why very few left the poker table in Elko, here is one of my poems that I read there in the park in Payson, Arizona:

The Banker’s Son

(Monday, March 29, 1999)

He spied on a horse, the banker’s son,

His father died that day

During the bank robbery his father was shot

And the robbers rode away.

Their horses were fast,

By the bottom, they were full.

Jo looked back and said,

Ride on you bunglin fools.

The more they spurred their horses,

Leaving the banker’s son in the dust,

But then they stopped to take the stock,

That’s when the fun began.

The banker’s son got up and said,

They were drinking whiskey then –

Put down your guns, you’re going to hang

When I get you back to town.

Fat Charlie laughed,

Is the banker’s son going to take us in?

He drew the colt,

The rich kid burned,

He did Fat Charlie in.

William narrow said,

Did you see that?

The baby looks great,

But Fat Charlie was slow, the Banker’s Boy,

I wouldn’t try that again.

You killed my baby, you dirty crew.

You shot him and he’s dead.

Slim William said, That Charles, his son,

And then he poured out lead.

The banker’s child ran in the dirt,

But then it came up burning.

Willy fell thin and ate a little sour,

The banker’s son was blowing.

Pete looked with a sad face at the two dead old men, and said,

That was a bit of a burn’.

But Charlie and Willy weren’t that fast,

To prove it, I am willing.

Spying the banker’s boy in the dirt,

Created a small ball.

I’m going to shoot again, he said,

And you are likely to fall.

So Pete said, OK, we’re coming in

To allow the court to decide,

But instead he drew six guns,

The boy shot twice, Pete landed on his side.

The boy blew smoke

From the barrel of his gun,

There were two more to kill.

One was Ugly Joe, the other, Angry Bill.

Bill said, Now, you’ve run a little,

I’m trapped like hell,

Not that you burned those ugly brutes,

My pockets to fill,

But I am not beaten down.

You are going down to hell.

The boy said, You don’t learn fast,

Are you angry Bill?

He pulled and fired,

Not once, but twice,

Bill went down the hill.

Ugly Joe looked at the men

All lying on the ground.

He said, My God! That was a bit of a burn!

You are the fastest gun around.

Now tell my son, Before I die,

How you learned to shoot.

I saw you tellerin the bank,

For guns you had no roots.

The boy looked down,

And these words said,

My father was just like you.

He went to jail

And paid the price

And he taught me how to shoot.

Ugly Joe kicked a rock and said,

What was his name, son?

The boy, the Sierra Kid, said

Ugly Joe drew his gun,

And

Died.

The boy left those parts,

Never to be seen again,

They did not find out the temptation,

Just those five dead.

Well, now you know why I have decided not to go to Elko tomorrow. (What? You want to read another one of my poems? Well, if you like punishment, go to my website.)

the end

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