Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
The Tale of Docile Jean
by: Alicia Deets
When she named her Docile Jean, her momma never thought
That she’s grow straight out of her name, be burly and what-not.
Why, right outta the shoot she was anything but dainty,
Had folks for miles around askin “She is a girl, ain’t she?”
Now Docile never minded her confidence was sure.
She flicked off condescension quicker’n cow manure.
Growin’ up was not hard to do and she did it fast.
But in the course of gainin’ smarts, manners came dead last.
With cattle to herd and dirt to plow, Docile Jean kept busy.
Her six foot frame kept up a pace that made the farmhands dizzy.
Never had they seen a girl who could hold her liquors,
But never had they seen a girl, in a bar, wearing ridin’ knickers.
When she walked into the saloon she turned every head.
Not in admiration mind you but in astonishment instead.
Her hair was wild and tangled to say nothing of her face.
And the presence of such a woman really shook up the place.
On just one such an occasion, Docile shashayed in the bar.
Turning every head, be they near or be they far.
She ordered up her usual and threw it back in quite a style.
Then sat herself down and sighed and thought to rest a while.
But she thought wrong and right at that particular minute
A man threw open the swingin’ door his name was Hickory Bennit.
Broad and strong and full of scruff and seasoned by the wild
He came in lookin for a drink sayin’, “Don’t give me nothin’ mild.”
Docile was taken back Hickory’s smell was terrible rank.
Other ‘n that she couldn’t help but stare on while he drank.
Never before had a man struck Docile as attractive,
And other than her heart’s thump, she was mobily inactive.
He wiped his chapped mouth on a sleeve rather ragged and torn,
Docile became aware that her own clothes were old and worn.
In this state, he turned to her sayin’ “Hickory’s my name.
I’ve a hankering for poker, would you join me in a game?”
Docile was nervous stammering out a “y-yes” in reply.
“Lawsie Hell!” Hickory hollered, “I thought you was a guy!”
“Forgive me ma’am,” He tipped his hat and boomed out in laughter.
Docile steamed and said, “Play me and see if yer laughin’ after.”
The congregation in the bar became suddenly still.
Bemused, Hickory bowed to her sayin, “Maybe I will.”
Docile brushed on past and took her seat at a card table,
When it came to poker, everyone knew she was fully able.
Hickory followed and took his seat smiling like a fool.
Though as Docile won the first three hands, he sorta lost his cool.
On the fourth he finally won, a full house saved his pride.
By then curious folk from the street had gathered inside.
Still Docile took the fifth, the sixth and eventually the loot.
But instead of bein’ mad, Hick was stupefied to boot.
Docile stood up, her full frame lookin hard and mighty mean.
“Don’t you forget,” she spit, “No one laughs at Docile Jean.”
She left the bar a winner, thought she was unduly hurt.
And she didn’t stop at tear from rolling down into the dirt.
Turning Hickory’s money over in her well-worn hand
She set out to do something she had never before planned.
With strong resolve she made her way to the barber’s chair.
“Wash it, comb it, dry it,” she ordered, “and don’t you dare stop there.
Trim it up and pull it back with a ribbon purty and blue.
Draw me a bath while you’re at it and I’ll tip a dollar or two.”
The bewildered barber set to work without a fight.
Washing, combing, trimming, and drying with all his might.
When he was through, he proudly put her up so she could see.
Her surprise was so that she tipped, instead of two bucks three.
Next thing she did was make her way to Old Marj’s Dressy Shop.
When she walked through that door, old Marj’s jaw just dropped.
“I wanna dress,” Docile plopped her money on the shop desk.
“Or maybe two, if it’s all right, I don’t wanna be a pesk.”
Turns out old Marj had 2 ready-made just in Docile’s size.
She had them on hand for months, hopin for just such a surprise.
Docile Jean put one on and boxed the other up tight,
Tipped her head to dear Old Marj and bid her a “good night.”
Before going home Docile made one stop along the way.
Walking into the bar she ordered up her tab in full to pay.
“I won’t be comin’ back here,” she spoke with heated feeling.
Her appearance sent the menfolk mostly Hickory a ‘reeling.
He called her out slurring, “So this what you done with my money?
Turned yerself into some softy, sweet-smellin’, woman-like honey?”
“Honey!” she flipped around and socked big Hickory square.
“You forget that money ain’t yours you lost it over there.”
Hickory wiped his mouth then hollered, “Docile Jean!
You’re ten times more woman than any gal I’ve ever seen!
Whether you’re in a dress, britches, bloomers or stark nothin’
I gotta have ya, honey, and that’s really sayin’ somethin’”.
She knew that she should slap him for bein’ right improper,
But there was something about old Hick that outright stopped her.
“You promise to be sweet?” was all she could manage to say.
“I promise to let ya run free,” he said, “and have yer own way.”
They built a homestead up from nothing but each other.
Five years later Docile was of three young’ins, a mother.
And big Hickory Bennit, poker player that he wasn’t,
Bought his wife dresses to wear though he prefers she doesn’t.
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