|
Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
Leather Stains
Tom Sheehan
My uncle died and left me luck,
His old barn and a golden buck,
A house falling roof-ward down,
Losing first that old-time crown,
A field of grass the neighbor’s knew
Where no good feed ever grew,
For that dead man the bottle killed
He who once was highly skilled,
Could rope a steer on the dead run,
Whose hand fell faster to the gun
Than all the bandits he’d caught up;
Marked their trail before he’d sup,
Before the clues went mighty pale,
Him alone on the lonesome trail,
Before he’d let his pushing rest
He’d push himself the fulsome test.
Then that man one bullet caught
And messed his riding the total lot,
Left him sitting in his porchly chair
Wishing for clear prairie’s air,
Left him there to die, you see,
Swallowed by useless misery,
Left to rot while the leather stains
Marked the barn with rides’ remains,
Left the leather to score the wall,
Each mark caught with stories tall,
Each one storied of that old man
Realizing where his ride began.
On a beam in barn’s high loft,
Its oak grain not yet gone soft,
I found the gift of golden buck,
His fetish blessing me with luck.
Leather stains of bridle’s rust,
Blackened now like metal’s rust,
Turn life pages of his book
And give me the last-chance look
To see a sheriff in prime and pride;
Imagine though, his final ride
When he took the bullet’s aim,
Knowing it would leave him lame.
I burned his barn and took some dust
And put it where I felt I must,
In the place where my uncle lies
Waiting for his new sunrise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
