WHEN IT WAS WESTERN

Posted on September 19, 2025 by | 1 Comment 
Corrals were different then,
fences sagged, gates dragged,
old chiefs gruff and crude—

and if related, so profane 
that only eagles watched 
from the tops of twin 

Valley Oaks four foot thick.
My father brought his talk
as bait from the Bulge,

disconnected from command
for a week—and the high-headed 
cows gathered by too many 

wannabes out of the brush 
and narrow canyons,
reason to increase his volume.

I learned the language early,
shared it with my town friends 
on the grammar school playground.

This entry was posted in Poems 2025, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One response to “WHEN IT WAS WESTERN”

  1. Marla Painter's avatar Marla Painter | September 19, 2025 at 9:33 am | Reply

    This is wonderful. People in all their ways of making a living had/havetheir own language and ways of making things work. I was always intrigued how my Dad talked at his auto repair shop. He hardly spoke at home,but, in his shop, he spoke a lot and in his own language. I hope you are both well and hanging in as best we can. It is “fun” to get occasional missives from John Grant. His rants are cathartic. I’ve been dealing with cancer and hope to be on the other side of it soon. Nothing stays the same- including CPG. It beaks my heart. Warmest greetings, Marla

    Marla Painter L506 Valley High St. SW Albuquerque, New Mexico 87105 USA 505-220-3969

    “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.” –Upton Sinclair

    Liked by 1 person

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