In a Sow’s Ear
On a ranch or farm, used parts accumulate. Worn tires tend to multiply out behind the water tank. Old tractors, old mowers, old cobbled-together harrows, balers, swathers, dead pickups ” stuff that’s been kept around for “parts” ” form a graveyard of rusty broke-down machinery. Sometimes the antiquated iron dinosaurs sprout on top of a ridge or perhaps bloom in the bottom of a draw. One neighbor refers to his collection as “pasture art.”
Not only does ranch equipment wear out, rust, decay and decompose, so does the rancher. The gall bladder gets yanked; the teeth become store bought, the knee or hip joints operate on metal hinges; eyeballs acquire lens implants. Every trip to a Doctor leads to another possible removal or replacement of a part. So what do you do with the items? Collect them in jars? Mount them on walls? Stash them on the top shelf of the closet? None of the above? The following may be warbled to the tune of “Sweet Betsy” From Pike.
What to do with a box full of used parts
In a box in my closet high up on a shelf,
I’ve stored the parts of my much younger self;
The urn is of crystal, I feel it’s a must
To keep my parts free of all soil and of dust.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
I open the box and I take a look-see,
I gaze at the items that once were part me;
My gall bladder rests in a shiny glass jar
Like a dead jelly fish or a big blob of tar.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
The store teeth I’m wearing have sunk out of
view, My gums have receded, oh what can I do?
I talk through my lips; it’s hard to speak plain
When my mouth flaps in a manner insane.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
The Docs have replaced
both my worn out bum knees
With plastic and metal and now possibly,
Security guards at those awful airports
Will make me undress there
right down to my shorts.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
And both my eyeballs have something fantastic,
They took out the cataracts, put in some plastic;
My skin has the texture of scum on stale beer,
And a prune looks much better
than me in a mirror.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
And don’t let me wander too far from a biffy,
My bladder control is distressingly iffy;
Both of my arches are sadly quite flat,
Like flippers on ducks,when I walk my feet flap.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
What more is there left to remove or install?
I don’t want to know,bad news makes me bawl;
I’ll polish my parts ’til they’re shiny as dimes,
And also make certain that everything rhymes.
Refrain: Oh what shall I do
with this box of used parts?
And when the time comes to send for the hearse,
Put my corpse in a pine box
along with this verse,
Then dig me a grave ‘neath the Montana sky,
Where I will rest easy, so long and good bye.
Refrain: And I’ll leave my used parts
to you all ” my good friends.
