It was a dismal little town; but Cowgirl Melinda was in need of some excitement. Unfortunately, it was Sunday, and the local option forbade any drinks being sold. The movie was a kiddie movie, and the only liquid refreshment was from a 7-11 store selling Slurpees.
Not one of her better nights.
However, she noticed some people going to an unprepossessing building, where advertised was an open mike night of poetry reading. It was, to her untutored eyes, much like a karaoke session. Individuals, largely of the college crowd, would stand up singly, and recite some verse. Melinda was content to simply watch and listen, but some people her age passed her a joint of that Arkansas wild weed. She took at toke, though she was usually law-abiding.
Apparently, several of the persons who were going up to recite had used a little weed or even alcohol for a little herbal or liquid courage. It certainly did not improve the versification, but it seemed to relax her critical standards.
Finally, Melinda stood up, strode over to the mike, with her spurs jingling.
A she started off a little fuzzily:
Not one of her better nights.
However, she noticed some people going to an unprepossessing building, where advertised was an open mike night of poetry reading. It was, to her untutored eyes, much like a karaoke session. Individuals, largely of the college crowd, would stand up singly, and recite some verse. Melinda was content to simply watch and listen, but some people her age passed her a joint of that Arkansas wild weed. She took at toke, though she was usually law-abiding.
Apparently, several of the persons who were going up to recite had used a little weed or even alcohol for a little herbal or liquid courage. It certainly did not improve the versification, but it seemed to relax her critical standards.
Finally, Melinda stood up, strode over to the mike, with her spurs jingling.
A she started off a little fuzzily:
Er, I've been ridden hard . . . .
I mean, I've been riding hard
And in need of liquid refreshment.
For days I have been only with my horse
And, you know, he doesn't say much.
A horse of few words.
But the life of the cowgirl
Is the life for me.
So that, when I die,
Make my make my hide into a soft saddle,
And let me be on a horse afterwards.
A nice sorrel one, perhaps.
And take this little dogie
To a place where music and whiskey
Are always present.
One college student shouted, "I'll drink to that!"
10 comments:
She will not make it as a poet. Weed and poetry does not mix any more than truth and Republicans.
There is a genre called cowboy poetry, and much of it is of that quality. Good post!
I think I heard a little Thin Lizzy playing in the background as I read the poem.
A really cute costume on Cowgirl Melinda.
Poetry slams can be fun. Never any cowboy poetry, though.
I'd like to ride her.
Poets should be given a weed ration for creativity.
I don't think Melinda will be in line for the position of Poet Laureate ... however, she may be open to other positions, so to speak.
She could be Poet Laureate of Wyoming.
I like her poetry. And her poetry reading outfit.
Good story Does she double as a stripper?
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