𝙿𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚢 [𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖𝚜]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚘𝚢

The Parable of a Cowboy

A boy with his parents, practicing twirling in his fingers a pocket knife,
He turns to me with a crooked grin, “Hey Stranger, I wanna be just like you,”
I tip my bucket hat, smile, and advise him not to cause his parents any strife
For how was I to tell him that I want to be like him, too?

The serrated steel of the blade catches the light and shatters it into pieces,
Like a knife that I once had that my pops had relinquished to me;
I wish I could tell both boys that a cowboy life is worse than any disease is,
But now I’m suffocating and must take a moment to breathe…

Nobody is waiting at home with dinner cooling on the table,
Hell, I must have left the stove on;
Nobody is tracking mud through the house from the stable,
Did I chase off my whistling swan?

Old Willie Nelson’s song was as right as rain
That pocket knife spinning in the boy’s fingers was I;
I didn’t have an Abel but yet I bear the mark of Cain
Help me solve this riddle, why is my life awry?