June 23, 2006 Amos the Churchmouse

amos the churchmouse:

a view from under the pew

Editor’s note: Amos is a church mouse, who types by hurling himself at the keys, but he can’t operate the capital shift keys, and he shuns punctuation marks – except hyphens and dashes.

camp meeting encounter

boss i was at the mesa

redondo cowboy camp

meeting the other day

just trying to survive a

headache when i

spied a dusty

weather-beaten horned

toad wearing green-bean

chaps a bandana and a

cowboy hat

he was spitting brown juice

and riding up and down

the rolling ned houk hills

on a well-worn stick

horse that looked like it

was missing a few teeth

howdy pardner says he

to me as he pulled his

pony to a stop beside a

small oak tree

then with no smile or

even a boo he whipped

out his rope spun it a

spin or two and looped

it around my throat

aargh says me

frantically why are you

attacking me this is no

way to cure a headache

oh sorry pard says he

apologetically i thought

shure you was a little

prairie doggie that

had strayed away

but now i see that i

roped a goat

i am no goat says me

indignantly can t you

see anything smaller

than a tree

he looks at me

sorta strangely

and says come to think

of it you don t look

like a goat at all

your whiskers are

turned sideways and

you have some kind of

a danged lizard tail

i don t have a danged

lizard tail says me

what s the matter with

you anyway

life on the wind-driven

range ain t what she

used to be we round up

doggies in pick-m-ups

and hell-m-copters

we figure our grain and

feed on computer brains

and seed them clouds

to make it rain on the

plains

i tell ya life on the

range ain t what she

used to be

but then i ain t what i

used to be either

my shootin iron is rusty

my lariat rope is frayed

my memories are dusty

and my life pretty well

played but now i reckon

there ain t much left

for this cowtoad but a

shallow grave a howling

dog and a sinkin sun

life ain t been rich but

most of it shure has been

fun cept for the snake bites

the horse manure and the

cactus tines

but mostly i m grateful for

that time one summer years

ago when i moseyed down

to a cowboy camp meetin

and met the head wrangler

whose son gave his all for

me on calvary i hobbled

down that sawdust trail one

starry night to join his

heavenly crew to wear

his godly brand and live life

forever new

all right boss maybe it wasn t

so bad to be roped as a goat —

all i ask is just don t refer to me

as a dope on a rope

amos