Got twin guns and holsters for Christmas,
always get them. A cowboy can’t work
without side arms.
Such shooters!
Exact Roy Rogers replicas,
pearl handled counterfeits,
long barrels,
chrome bullet chambers,
real cap rolls that explode
with such force I see sparks flash
before my eyes.
They coil like wounded snakes
and smell like burnt matches.
My nose twitches at the odor,
but that’s life for a cowboy.
Holsters, the finest on the block,
genuine leather made from a cow.
I figure that’s the “cow” in cowboy,
I’m the other part.
Fringe rawhide strings hang
so low they tickle my bare knees
in summer time.
Roy really knows how to dress.
Got to meet the gang at the hideout
and form a posse to trail desperadoes.
When we find the bad guys,
there’ll be a big shoot-out.
Nobody gets hurt, though.
That’s the way Roy likes it.
Jack Eisenman is Professor emeritus at Palm Beach Atlantic University.
He has written poetry since the early 1960’s. Jack enjoys writing nostalgic poems about growing up in Greenville, South Carolina.