Gwen Peterson: In a Sows Ear 8-20-12 | TheFencePost.com

Gwen Peterson: In a Sows Ear 8-20-12

Next week, August 16-19, along comes the Montana Cowboy Poetry Gathering and Western Music Rendezvous held in Lewistown, Mont. Yours truly has been assigned the momentous task of announcing the winner in the raffle drawing while basking in the bright lights of the nightshow stage. What's the raffle? A cowboy of course! He wears a hat and boots and has a vacant expression. Sound like any buckaroos you know?

Sadly, this raffle cowboy doesn't breathe in and out, but he does wear a hat, boots and a cheery grin. He's made of plaster and steel and stands about five foot tall. (One imagines he'd be taller in the saddle, but unfortunately he can't fork a horse). He's been christened, Rusty, because parts of him bear a rust-hued patina.

As you can imagine, the responsibility of drawing a winning number to give away a plaster puncher is fraught with anguish as grueling as putting a robot on Mars. How can I make the ceremony special, you ask? I have penned a collection of limericks all devoted to Rusty. I shall speak each one in a respectful voice while indicating the portion of Rusty to which the limerick may allude. As in the following:

Ol' Rusty's made of plaster and paint

He's purty but real cowboy he ain't

He leans on a wall

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Instead of a stall

And smiles without a complaint.

Rusty's hat is made with great pains

To shield him from sunshine and rains

With a wide band for sweat

So his eyes don't get wet

And a crown that's too big for his brains.

Ol' Rusty's a buckaroo fellow

He's laid back and really quite mellow

But if he's left in the rain

It quite melts his brain

And rusts to a yellow cremello.

Rusty wears spurs on his boot heels

He clanks 'em like musical bell peals

When he kicks up high

He catches his thigh

Now he knows how his suffering horse feels.

Ol' Rusty's a perfect sidekick

Though you all may think he's a hick

He's never passé

He don't drink latte

And his brains are made out of brick.

Though constructed of clay and paint

Rusty, the statue is quaint

But he's merely plaster

Oh what a disaster

He'd like to make love but he cain't.

Dear Rusty it's time to go

You've got a new row to hoe

Your job is to stand

In some gardener's land

And scare off each sneaky crow.

And the winner is … ❖