< Issue 5 >
Cowboy’s Lament
by Jeffrey Park
Come with us on a cattle drive,
an invitation no sane, healthy boy
could possible turn down.
Driving a steaming stamping herd
through chalky gullies, crackling
echoes sparking from your hooves
and – come on boys, water ahead
whisky and women just ahead, beer
and five-card stud, songs under
the stars and the nomad’s protests
against the sin of barbed wire.
Trembling concern over that newborn
calf – would she pull through after all?
And camaraderie around the campfire,
faces seen only in profile,
could be a man, could be a woman,
and all that leathery, deeply repressed
cowboy baggage, hey, look out for
that for that cow pie there, wee hoo!
And we forded the river
and we galloped down
the cactus-encrusted slope, and we
laughed after the tumbling tumbleweeds
until the sun hunkered down
beyond the distant ridge
and the cattle, the sweet cattle, settled
down for the night
lowing so gently in the darkness
and we lay swaddled in our moth-eaten
bedrolls, harmonizing: hot bath,
soft bed, a woman who will remember
your name long after you’re gone –
echoes of yesterday’s ballads,
a fading moon that follows you
on down the lonesome trail.
Cowboy’s Lament
by Jeffrey Park
Come with us on a cattle drive,
an invitation no sane, healthy boy
could possible turn down.
Driving a steaming stamping herd
through chalky gullies, crackling
echoes sparking from your hooves
and – come on boys, water ahead
whisky and women just ahead, beer
and five-card stud, songs under
the stars and the nomad’s protests
against the sin of barbed wire.
Trembling concern over that newborn
calf – would she pull through after all?
And camaraderie around the campfire,
faces seen only in profile,
could be a man, could be a woman,
and all that leathery, deeply repressed
cowboy baggage, hey, look out for
that for that cow pie there, wee hoo!
And we forded the river
and we galloped down
the cactus-encrusted slope, and we
laughed after the tumbling tumbleweeds
until the sun hunkered down
beyond the distant ridge
and the cattle, the sweet cattle, settled
down for the night
lowing so gently in the darkness
and we lay swaddled in our moth-eaten
bedrolls, harmonizing: hot bath,
soft bed, a woman who will remember
your name long after you’re gone –
echoes of yesterday’s ballads,
a fading moon that follows you
on down the lonesome trail.
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