Ode to Cowboy Dad

I had so many stepdads that I’m glad I never knew,

I was fortunate in that, I’m telling you.

But the only one I ever knew, was my cowboy dad.

Ernest was one of the best two dads I ever had.

He was a real cowboy, from his hat down to his boots,

With his balding, gray head, and his stinky old cheroots.

His mustache was graying, and big and bold,

And his legs were short, and truly bowed.

His old straw hat was sweat stained, and torn.

His boots were skinned up, and heel worn.

But they got that way from spurs, and thorns.

From popping brush, and dodging horns.

He could break a green colt, and rope a cow,

Shoe a horse, or plant and plow.

He could train a cutting horse to turn on a dime,

Cutting out a calf with patience prime.

He managed an SMS cattle ranch,

And played the fiddle so we could dance.

He was mild mannered, and quiet spoken.

A man to trust when you felt broken.

The only time I really got his goat,

Was when I washed his coffeepot.

For years he only wiped it out, so to season it,

So that it made coffee, strong and perfect.

But I had scrubbed out all the flavor,

Thinking I was doing him a favor.

He forgave my great faux paux,

And taught me to make biscuits that weren’t raw,

Or so hard that they broke our teeth.

Then he taught me how to slaughter beef.

He could make the best sweet potato pie,

So good it would almost make you cry.

Ernest collected snake rattlers, and arrowheads.

Getting the rattlers filled me with dread.

The bullwhip he plaited for me I held dear,

But in all our moves it disappeared.

He taught me to use my mattress to press my jeans,

Who’d have believed you could use this means.

I wish he’d have had a happier life,

But he wasn’t wise when he chose his wife.

I pray that he is now in cowboy heaven,

Riding the range on a steed God has given.

I’ll never forget my cowboy dad,

One of the best a girl could have had.

Jeanette Marie