By Mike Berger, PhD
The hero bursts through the swinging
doors, the inevitable gunfight in front
of a saloon. The villain lies belly up
in the street.
Editors despise cowboys dressed in rhyme
and yummy victuals from the chuck wagon.
Forget the sounds of thundering hooves
or sleeping under a million stars.
Why would anyone write such drivel?
It would never be published; it would
stink up pages like a fresh cow pie.
Editors should print up special nasty
Here's the other side of the coin.
Cowboy poems are a fresh cream puff
all sticky and gooey; appositive delight.
They are what jazz
is to music,
the only real American poem
is cowboy verse.