Friday 1 June 2012

Cowboy's

        The introduction to this poem is probably longer than the actual verse but is basically necessary for anyone who listens from overseas and does not know what some of the terms used mean.



   We were walking up to the cattle yard one day when Dick in his blunt fashion said to one of the jackeroo's who looked to be dressed more for the beach than the stockyard `You might not be much bloody use but you could at least dress the part.`
There again another fella turned up at Moola Bulla in his Akubra hat, R.M Williams cuban (high heel) heel riding boots and a silver buckle on his belt, as the mechanic at the time said to me `New fella looks the part.`
`We''ll see.` was my grunted response.  And see we did.
      The only stipulation to him being given the job was that he could ride a horse he had assured those in Perth he could.  But when given a horse and told to try him out his stirrup leathers were so long he could hardly touch the irons, on the suggestion that he shorten them his knees were then under his chin somewhat like a jockey.  When told to canter his horse round the yard his riding skills became obvious as the horse broke into a trot his hands grabbed the front of the saddle to prevent him falling off, I think the finger indentations would be there to this day.  Dick suggested I make him camp cook, I wanted to bush him straight away, he ended up costing us a lot of lost cattle during the short period he was in the camp.  He was definitely one of those who suffered from the affliction mentioned in the last line of this poem.


COWBOYS

He thought he was a cowboy but he couldn’t ride his swag,
He’d never thrown his leg across a real equine nag.
A ball bearing cowboy the worst sort of course,
Yeah, he thought he was a cowboy but where’s his bloody horse.

He may have been a little slow but he was a happy sort of bloke,
And in the attire that he wore he looked a real cowpoke.
His belt buckle was shiny and his hat was jet black,
But in a yard with cattle there’s a yellow streak down his back.

He’d make a real good cowboy milking cows and feeding chooks,
Mowing the lawn, clipping the edges and weeding all the little nooks.
He used to watch Bonanza and other old yippee shows,
Wagon Train and Rawhide and his face fairly glows.

Well he’s showing all the symptoms, it’s a classic case it seems,
Of a bloke that’s had too many, John Wayne wet dreams.


© Corin Linch 19/1/04