Reproduced here with permission by the writer: Moo the Moose
TWO WORDS
The stoical cowboy with treacle for curls
Sits on the sofa, his heart all a-whirl,
Awaiting his darlin' he ain't seen in years
He sits amid six empty bottles a beer.
A motor outside, the sweet screech of tires
He's up on his feet, his body's on fire
Longing for Jack, he ain't seen in years:
Quick, cowboy, quick, get rid a them tears.
He bursts out the door and flies down the stairs;
Giddyap, cowboy, take 'em in pairs.
Waiting below, his beautiful boy,
His darlin', his Jack: his heart and his joy.
Cowboys collide, the force almost hurts,
With wide crow's-feet smiles, and fistfuls of shirt.
Four years of yearning were four years amiss.
Four years of lonely dissolved in that kiss.
The wall took the brunt of their four years apart,
Those slats felt the force of their wild, cowboy hearts.
Breathless and giddy, they came up for air,
The scent of the mountain in both of their hair.
But the kiss and embrace, which bridged all the years
Could not hold a candle, could just not come near,
When the stoical cowboy bent to Jack's ear,
“Little darlin”, he whispered, extracting a tear.
RETURN TO SENDER
Returned to sender,
M'hands how they shook.
Oh Lawdy, oh shit,
I can't bear to look
He'll answer, in Texas,
He'll answer for sure.
He's got to! He will,
The son of a whore.
Alas. Alas. Lureen,
Your wife.
Her story, her tale
A godamned sharp knife.
Thrust in the heart,
Plunged into the soul.
Jack Fuckin Twist
Will never grow old.
Reduced ta ash y'could hold
In your hand.
Can't rightly be fixed...
But too much ta stand.
Let the campfire die,
Leave your bay mare bereft.
Your bull's all alone,
My Rodeo's left.
Pack up the pup tent,
Let the woolies roam free.
Brokeback is empty
Let be, let be.
THE COWBOY'S LAMENT
The wind in the Rockies is the voice of my soul
The great, lonely plains - I feel just as old.
A life that knew love, but a life lived without
A life now akin to that long-ago trout.
Oh, for a scapegoat, my heart how it longs
Oh to blame somebody else for the wrongs.
I'm nothin', I'm nowhere, I can't stand to be
So hard to press on, Jack, now there's no We.
The huge, great big sadness of the vast northern plains
Rolls down on my head...goddamn, how it rains.
The rue an' regret, oh it aches like a bitch
It nags me and nags me; a fishwife shrew witch.
A banshee regret that haunts all my sleep
More often than not, I wake then I weep
But sometimes, my friend, sometimes I dream
Sweet dreams of our Mountain and all that it means.
In this sweet slumber, friend, you and I meet,
I shed salty tears, ensconced in wet sheets.
I cling to these dreams, disperse that they may
I grasp the fine fragments, they might stoke the day.
Too good were you, Jack,
A pearl 'fore the swine
So, hung from a tack:
Your shirt in mine
Thanks to
moo_the_moose