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LIFE-SIZED ROY

I became much more involved with writing western poetry years ago after a cowpoke friend of mine invited me to attend a Western Music & Poetry gathering and perform at the event’s open-mic sessions. Talk about inspiration. After the first afternoon, I went home and wrote two new poems to perform the next day. At the close of the weekend Music & Poetry Gathering, my friend, Vic, also obtained a life-sized promo of his favorite cowboy, which—unfortunately for Vic––coaxed the following rhyme from my writer’s imagination. As I did when I first composed it, this poem is dedicated to my pard, Vic Anderson. THANKS PARD for encouraging me and for allowing my imagination to embellish the truth a tad while poking a little fun at your expense. The photo shows Vic and me performing the poem for the first time at another venue.

To my readers: Enjoy. Thanks for stopping by.

LIFE-SIZED ROY

Here’s a tale ’bout a fella I know

A true cowboy that’s for sure

His name is Vic, he loves the west

And proudly promotes the lore

Through heartfelt words in poems and songs

And the lifestyle they portray

Harmonious music Vic knows well

And would gladly play each day

But even though I do believe

This cowpoke is no placebo

I’m afraid he has one major weakness

His all-around western hero

A man who shot and rode with the best

Then sang and yodeled too

With a gal named Dale, who always wished

Many Happy Trails to you

Roy Rogers was this legend’s name

Idolized by many young boys

A western music icon as well

But to Vic, he was just plain Roy

A Saturday matinee champion

From his head down to his feet

And the only singing cowboy

Vic never got to meet

So it surely stands to reason

Why Vic exhibited utter joy

The special day when he brought home

His very own Life-sized Roy

Like a motion picture promo

Standing tall to grab attention

Roy postured in Vic’s bedroom

Which created apprehension

From his sweetheart, who could only say

“My, he’s quite a sight!”

“Ain’t he though?” Vic replied

“And he’ll be here every night!”

Vic’s sweetheart knew if she refused

He’d consider it a sin

So, with gritted teeth and some remorse

She decided to give in

And allow the cardboard figure

Into their cozy little nest

’Cause after all Vic always said

Roy Rogers was the best

But early that next morning

’Bout two or maybe three

Vic awoke with a sudden urge

He really had to pee

So he headed towards the bathroom

With both eyes still a blur

But a figure blocked the doorway

Then he heard his sweetheart stir

Now faced with a showdown situation

Vic had to protect his Hon

He started to move, when his sweetheart screamed

“Look out, he’s got a gun!”

The trespasser’s pose remained stone cold

He never even flinched

Vic had to think of somethin’ quick

But he dare not budge an inch

It was then Vic recalled his brand new boots

Resting snug beside the bed

So he grabbed one and slung it like a rope

And smacked the rustler in the head

Right on target, the man staggered right

Vic leaped into a tussle

But he noticed, as they hit the floor

That the outlaw had no muscle

About that time the lights came on

Vic’s sweetheart by the switch

Vic stared down at his vanquished foe

And hollered, “Son of a bitch!”

The sight that lay beneath him now

Nearly made our Victor cry

It was Life-sized Roy, with gun barrels bent

And a heel mark over his eye

“What have I done?” Vic exclaimed

He thought poor Roy a goner

And slinked back towards the bedpost

From his battle in the corner

“It’ll be alright,” his sweetheart said

“We’ve got some tape and glue

I can straighten out his six-guns

And make Roy look good as new”

Vic’s sweetheart’s word was good as gold

Her repairs could not be finer

Except, perhaps, for the bandage used

To masquerade Roy’s shiner

Now Life-sized Roy guards a different room

A bit more out of the way

Where he’s immortalized in a god-like shrine

That Vic visits every day

On bended knee, Vic bows his head

Which only starts him thinkin’

’Bout the dreadful night he slung his boot

And made Roy look like he’s winkin’

So, for those of you with champions too

To avoid such pain and sorrow

Consider the placement of your hero’s pose

So he’ll remain the same tomorrow

Don’t be like Vic, who still feels sick

’Bout givin’ poor Roy the bruisin’

Let your idol stand where he’ll look grand

Far away from where you’re snoozin’

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