I woke up this morning remembering
What I'd been dreaming about last night,
And I smiled, for it seemed so simple—
The answer to our political plight!
For I dreamed that all politicians
Had spent part of their lives on the land,
Honing the skills that would be needed,
When they signed on to “ride for the brand.”
They had learned the cowboy work ethic,
And what we call the Code of the West,
Where a person's word and a handshake
Put every agreement to rest.
There were governors and senators
Getting out before break of day,
Insisting that all their employees
Did a day's work for a day's pay.
From each town to each city and state,
All the way to Washington, D.C.,
Those cowboys that we had elected
Were working for you and for me.
Bills were no longer passed with “pork.”
Not one congressman's vote could be
bought.
Both sides of the “House” were using good
common sense,
The way cowboys have always been taught.
And when faced with important issues,
Where decisions could mean peace or war,
There was no partisan bickering;
They stayed true to the oath that they swore,
To never forget just what it took
In sacrifice, blood, sweat, and tears,
For our Constitution to survive,
Even after two-hundred-plus years.
Oh, I wish I hadn't been dreaming,
And cowboys were the ones at the reins,
For we could vote for any of them,
And do away with these awful campaigns!
—Carole Jarvis, Wickenburg, Ariz.
Ode to the Ranch Truck
The tailgate says it's Chevy but the grill says
it's Ford—
Which one it really is you forgot;
The last time it saw pavement was 15 years ago
The day you bought it new off the lot.
The bed is full of salt blocks and knots of baling
twine,
Old feed sacks and moldy flakes of hay.
There's rolls of barbed wire and rusty T posts
And whatever else you throw in there today.
The paint is peeling off and the hood is full of
dents;
It usually has a flat once a week.
You park it on a hill 'cause the starter's nonexistent
And there ain't a fluid now that don't leak.
It was the best truck you could buy the day
you brought it home;
The engine would hum, pull, and pass.
But now before you start it you say a little
prayer
Then fill it up with oil and check the gas.
The inside smells like branding smoke and
cow's afterbirth.
You don't even want to know what's on the
floor.
You've got to use vice grips to roll the window
down
And needlenose to open either door.
Its engine's been rebuilt a half a dozen times.
It's used more oil than a jumbo jet.
It's ran like poop ever since you changed the
timing belt,
'Cause you never could get the timing set.
But you'll just keep on driving it until the
wheels fall off
And just to prove that it's a useful tool,
When you finally buy a new one you'll give that
one to the kids
And let themdrive it back and forth to school.
