I was asked the other day
Why there's no distinction 'twixt cowboy and cowgirl poetry.
The quizzer said, "They all sound the same, and,
Dang, they're just as masculine as can be.
Now, I was taken much aback
As I'd not given this just thought,
But she was most persistent
To separate the girls from the male lot.
She said, "There must be a marked division,
I just know there's got to be. . .!"
So it's now MY observation that
She seeks to find the feminine side of me.
I tried to tell her that this cowboy job
Required the same from every man,
And if you be a cowgirl,
Your arms might get muscular and tan.
That's just the nature of this trade,
You hire on to be real tough,
If you're a delicate, gentle lady,
You'll find your life will be quite rough.
I said to her - "My soft, sweet, city girl,
You cause me great dismay,
So I'd better lead you through the steps
Of how the cowgirl got this way.
When the earth throws back its blanket white,
To reveal a newborn spring,
This cowgirl's heart begins to flutter,
And my soul begins to sing.
I've donned a pair of earrings,
Dabbed mascara on each lash,
And when my cowboy comes around,
Into his muscled arms I dash.
As he struts for yonder coffeepot, he'll ask,
"What's that scent of which I smell?
You know, you can't wear that there perfume
Down to the calvin' barn, by hell!
"It stirs up the cows and makes 'em wild,
You know what I mean, my dear?
If you must wear something, Ma,
Dab a little manure behind each ear."
When the summer's solstice comes to be
And love electrifies the air,
A sexy dress I'll slyly choose
And become a maiden fair.
I'll tear through several nylons
Until I finally get it right,
Toss my flowing locks just so they lay in place,
Oh, my, this is sure to be some night!
And then reclining on the sofa,
In that most sexy kind of way,
My husband pauses breathless,
With the come hither looks that say. . .
The cows are in the meadow,
The neighbor's yearlings in our lane,
The mosquitoes sure will chew your legs,
But, come and help me 'fore it rains.
Now, the golden leaves of autumn
Glint against the harvest moon.
'Tis a night just made for lovers,
And, I'm going to make my cowboy swoon.
Yes, to my wardrobe I've added Frederick's lace,
To my nails some Press-On-Lee's,
From my breast drifts scent of Passion,
Oh, yes, I'll have this cowboy on his knees!
Enter now the cowboy. . .
Desperate he for his "cowmiss,"
With, "Can you milk the cow? Oh, Lordy, those nails!
You know, that cow won't stand for this!"
It's early Christmas morn',
Presents 'neath a twinkling tree,
Cowboy proudly hands his cowgirl
A gift that says "To You From Me!"
Her trembling hand drops ribbon
Lifts mistletoe-paper from a satin box,
Cowboy beams and grins and says,
"A goose-down coat and gloves,
And a pair of them 'lectric socks!
"Now you can help me harness up
The work team every day,
And I won't worry 'bout my little cowgirl,
While we feed all those cows their hay!"
Well, I've barely scratched the surface
Of how a cowgirl gets her style.
A lady doin' cowboys' work. . .
We've got to spur each one of those hard earned miles.
So, if a cowgirl's verse sounds somewhat bold,
And lacks sweet, feminine finesse,
It's because our jobs are equal, but. . .
One's in pants and one, at times,
Might be found to sport a dress!