Petersen: A moral tale
A little old lady walked up to the rail
In front of the Oasis bar
She led a mule packed with gear
She’d prospected near and far.
She tied her mule to the hitching post
And brushed the dust from her clothes
Her mouth was dry, she savored a drink.
To relieve her prospector woes.
The swinging doors of the Oasis opened
A gunman came strutting out
He wore a sidearm as big as a cannon
A nasty looking lout!
The gunman decided he’d taunt the old lady
He snarled with a smirking sneer
“Hey, old woman, have you ever danced?”
He drawled with an oily leer.
The old lady looked him up and down
“Nope,” she replied, “never did.”
“Oh, yeah, old woman,” the gunman growled,
Here’s your chance — do as I bid!”
Slick as a snake he pulled his gun,
A bullet bit dust near her feet.
A crowd had gathered to watch the show
As the old lady hopped in retreat.
The gunman, laughing, emptied his weapon,
Holstered it, and started
Back into the Oasis saloon;
The crowd around him parted.
From the scabbard hanging at the big mule’s side
The old lady pulled a shotgun.
Resting the barrel along the rail,
She cocked it with her thumb.
The click sounded loud in the desert air
It gave the gunman pause.
Slowly, slowly, he turned around
And thus, discovered the cause.
His face grew grim as he stared down barrels
Of a shotgun aimed at his chest.
The crowd quit laughing as the scene played out,
This was no longer a jest.
The old woman’s shotgun never once wavered,
Her old lady’s voice was quiet,
“Mister, I got a question for you,
I’m betting you’re sure to like it.”
“You asked me if I know how to dance,
I politely told you, no;
You tried to make a fool of me
Just because I’m old.”
The silent crowd withdrew some more,
The gunman began to sweat;
Now ma’am, he wheedled, twas just in fun,
No call to get upset!”
The old lady chuckled; her shotgun steady
And asked the bully a question:
“You ever kissed a mule’s rear end?
I hear it’s now the fashion.”
Behind the gunman, someone snickered,
And somebody else did too;
The whole darn crowd then laughed and guffawed
As the bully’s face turned blue.
He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
He looked down the shotgun’s craw;
His gun-hand hovered above his holster,
He itched to make a draw.
But the old lady’s gaze never flickered once
Her smile could have melted ice.
“Draw, you ugly varmint,” she challenged,
“Or play this game real nice.”
“See that mule a standing there?
He’s 16-hands tall.
“See his handsome hindquarters, Mister?
Feel free to kiss it all.”
“The mule won’t mind, and you’ll have fun
Learning how to kiss;
That part of a mule that looks like you;
It’ll be your endless bliss.”
The gunman considered his paltry options —
Either do as old lady said
And apply his lips to the big mule’s rear —
Or end up thoroughly dead.
The old woman sighed and repeated her question:
“You ever kiss a mule?”
The gunman swallowed; “No ma’am,” he said,
“But I’ve always wanted to.”
He approached the posterior of the handsome mule
And resigned himself to the task
Then puckered up and placed his lips
On the big mule’s big red…
Moral: Don’t mess with old women; they didn’t get old by being stupid. And they love happy endings. ❖
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