Tuesday night the girl told
me that John Wayne's ghost
frequents the ship he died
on, drinking coffee on
the upper deck. i.e. not
whiskey. i.e. not in the saddle.
i.e. not a cowboy.
Stitch me some boots boy
My shoes are muddy
And I can no longer walk
Without the force of west at my heel
The pa-rump of the absent parade
A man needs some sort of weapon in this world
How 'bout them apples?
Check back over the next week to watch me put these books together...