Western Wednesday: Donny the Kid, Part One

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His first day on George Fox’s high plains spread,
They called him “kid” e’en though he was fourteen.
Kid he remained for days and weeks, his bed
Out ‘neath the stars, where kids sleep. In between
Those chilly nights he worked hard, but still “kid”
Was what they called him. Then, one scorching day
When he had had enough, he stopped amid
Shit shoveling and other chores to say
To the old supervising hands “You know
I’m not a kid.” “You ain’t a cowboy yet,”
The hands all told him. “You got far to go.
We ain’t seen you do what you’ve gotta. Get
The irrigation shovel. Go five miles
Then we’ll tell you what’s next.” “There’s more?” “Oh, piles!”

Western Wednesday: Poncho and Lefty versus the MWAC

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Said Poncho Pug to Lefty Pug, “Let’s go
Before the Federales find our trail!”
Said Lefty Pug to Poncho “We don’t know
That anybody’s chasing us, but they’ll
Not hurt us. We’re too cute!” He snorted, then.
“You think they’re kind like that?” asked Poncho, “I
Think we are outlaws! Let’s be bad again!
Let’s poop in football stadiums, let fly
Our farts in banks and shops! Let our crime spree
Go into stinky legend!” “Poncho, you
Are so my hero,” Lefty said. “Can we
Hit old Fort Collins first? And Provo, too?”
“Sure! Look out, Albuquerque, and I’ll say
That San Diego’s not out of our way!”

Western Wednesday: Some Drinks Cost More

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The bat-wing doors still swinging, there he stood,
A stranger, new in town, a mystery
On two legs, prob’ly up to nothing good.
The barkeep murmured “Who the hell is he?”
But someone knew, and reached down for his gun —
Just patted it, to make sure it was there.
“Pour me a whiskey,” quoth the stranger. “Son–,”
The barkeep said. “No, podner, don’t you dare,”
The stranger interrupted. “I am not
Your son, nor anybody’s here. Relax.
I’m here for information.” Then a shot
From outside on the street turned all the backs
To fronts, the better for all there to view
The stranger’s death. “The next one might be you.”