Dan in curled horsehide hat and manure boots

bought me a beer one afternoon

in a bar off the stockyards in the west bottoms

Liked me first off for calling tails – me, no sore loser


“Don’t ask me?” he’d snap to other young ‘uns

“What do I know? Only roped here fifty years”

Hobbled off in a twit, whistled three times,

“ What a deal! What a deal! What a deal!”


Dan loaded cattle onto trucks in the last days

when the city still stunk of slaughter houses

A bowlegged, dusty guy living downtown

struck many a match on wooden gates


Don’t know much more about Dan

after the city plowed the bull pens flat

Just wag my head in a twit, whistle three times,



“What a deal! What a deal! What a deal!”


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