June 23, 2006 Amos the Churchmouse

amos the churchmouse:

a view from under the pew

Editor’s note: Amos is a church mouse, who types by hurling himself at the keys, but he can’t operate the capital shift keys, and he shuns punctuation marks – except hyphens and dashes.

camp meeting encounter

boss i was at the mesa
redondo cowboy camp
meeting the other day
just trying to survive a
headache when i
spied a dusty
weather-beaten horned
toad wearing green-bean
chaps a bandana and a
cowboy hat

he was spitting brown juice
and riding up and down
the rolling ned houk hills
on a well-worn stick
horse that looked like it
was missing a few teeth

howdy pardner says he
to me as he pulled his
pony to a stop beside a
small oak tree

then with no smile or
even a boo he whipped
out his rope spun it a
spin or two and looped
it around my throat

aargh says me
frantically why are you
attacking me this is no
way to cure a headache

oh sorry pard says he
apologetically i thought
shure you was a little
prairie doggie that
had strayed away
but now i see that i
roped a goat

i am no goat says me
indignantly can t you
see anything smaller
than a tree

he looks at me
sorta strangely
and says come to think
of it you don t look
like a goat at all
your whiskers are
turned sideways and
you have some kind of
a danged lizard tail

i don t have a danged
lizard tail says me
what s the matter with
you anyway

life on the wind-driven
range ain t what she
used to be we round up
doggies in pick-m-ups
and hell-m-copters
we figure our grain and
feed on computer brains
and seed them clouds
to make it rain on the

i tell ya life on the
range ain t what she
used to be

but then i ain t what i
used to be either
my shootin iron is rusty
my lariat rope is frayed
my memories are dusty
and my life pretty well
played  but now i reckon
there ain t much left
for this cowtoad but a
shallow grave a howling
dog and a sinkin sun

life ain t been rich but
most of it shure has been
fun cept for the snake bites
the horse manure and the
cactus tines

but mostly i m grateful for
that time one summer years
ago when i moseyed down
to a cowboy camp meetin
and met the head wrangler
whose son gave his all for
me on calvary  i hobbled
down that sawdust trail one
starry night to join his
heavenly crew to wear
his godly brand and live life
forever new

all right boss maybe it wasn t
so bad to be roped as a goat —
all i ask is just don t refer to me
as a dope on a rope