Wooin’ the Mule

Debra G. Meyer

I’s up to Ed’s one Sunday,
We was plannin’ on a ride.
I hollered at his barn door,
Then I moseyed on inside.

My eyes just took a smidgeon
To adjust to dimmer light.
I found that I was peerin’’
At a most engagin’ sight.

Dappled gray with great long ears,
Pickin’ hay there in a stall.
One quick glance he cast my way,
Then the mule turned t’ward the wall.

Must be shy, I says to Ed,
As I offer up a rub.
He turned again, deliberate,
And I took it as a snub.

One fine judge of character!”
Ed was chucklin’as he spoke.
Theys’ some he just don’t take to,
Guess you ain’t his kind of folk.”

What’s that to mean? I queried.
Not his kind of folk, indeed!”
And then as if to comment,
The mule stretched hisself and peed.

He just needs time to know me,”
I spoke up on my behalf.
I’ll get a chair, Ed spluttered,
No attempt to hide his laugh.

I sat and watched the south end
Of a northern-facin’ john.
I’d prove that I was worthy;
I was one to count upon.

Just consider this, my friend,”
We debated as I sat.
I’m good and kind, I told him,
As he dodged another pat.

I then began some sweet talk,
Even tried to share my chuck.
His negative reaction,
Made me cuss and damn my luck.

The words I strung together,
Would have served a sailor well.
Told you so, Mule seemed to snort.
You’ll be goin’ straight to hell!”

That fiery accusation,
Made me pause and look within.
It seemed my knack fer’ cussin’,
Wasn’t near my greatest sin.

I am a might impatient.
I’ve been knowed to take a drink.
‘N I’m quick to get a mad on.
Mule agreed, with gaseous stink.

You’re right, I then conceded.
I’m unworthy and a fool.”
I was judged a sinner and,
Out-debated by a mule.