Raymond
(To Dad)
How tall he sat upon
his polished leather saddle
He wore a Stetson hat
boots ‘n chaps
Calloused hands
body strong ‘n agile
Sharp spurs ‘n western shirts
with pearl snaps
A “roll-your-own” rest-easy
’tween chapped lips
“Bull Durham” tag
dangled from shirt pocket
Cigars he’d smoke
when “feeling in the chips'
While astride his favorite Q-horse,
“Black Rocket”
His spurs did jingle,
on old line-shack boards
At night we’d braid rawhide
ropes ‘n quirts
We’d sip sweet spring water
from hollow gourds
By crackling fire
we’d darn socks ‘n mend
torn ‘n tattered shirts
My 13th year spent
on a ranch dad worked
it did change my life
Art of ridin, huntin,
ropin ‘n camp cooking I did learn
first chew of tobacco,
A new ‘n shiny
stockmen’s knife
Acrid smoke,
Bleating calves,
Branded hides ‘n
memories still burn
The last of a dying breed
of men my dad was
Once a year
with pockets full of silver,
He’d ride into town
to drink ‘n dance
with whores ‘n peers
Although I suffered when
he wandered off I'd forgive
Because…
He truly walked amongst
a hearty group of pioneers
Thank you dad
for all you gave to me
The laughter, campfires,
deer hunts ‘n great fun
With new-eyes
the great wonders
of nature I now see
I love ‘n miss you Dad,
You 'ole tough, ornery,
“Son-of-a-Gun”
poem by Ray Lucero
Added by Poetry Lover
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