About Amasa Guy
Two Jack-Mormon Cowboys: 1945
Moses climbs the Mount
to speak with God
as one man with another
Dan Ramage speaks with Silas face to face
using sticks to scratch irrigation
patterns in the dirt, squatting on his
heels, smoking Bull Durham roll-your-own,
speaking low, respectful
Two old cowboys
dusty, whiskered, limber
content in their speaking
Were God and Moses ever such good friends,
sharing coffee and a smoke
face to face?
Dan and Silas roll a smoke with either hand
crease the paper
flick tobacco in the fold
finish with a lick along the seam
twist the end
keep one hand in its pocket
a smooth, thoughtless skill
God gets his smokes gratis
ready-made, by the case, from Brown and Williams
good public relations
Cowboys throw fresh coffee grounds into a pot over fire
Godís secretary makes his joe in a fancy urn
Still, God might waive convenience
for the chance to chat with cowboys
squatting by a fire
If Moses shucked the robe
put on Levis
and did not try to sound like Heston
the boys might find a pretty-clean tin can
for his coffee
© 2013, Amasa Guy, All Rights Reserved
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's permission.
Amasa Guy comments:
When I was 7 years old, in the summer of 1945, I lived with my Grandpa, Dan Ramage, on his primitive farm. Silas Tanner was his near neighbor and best friend. Dan and Silas owned 60-acre rock and sage-brush homesteads side-by-side in Dry Valley, Wayne County, Utah. They lived 19th Century lives in the 20th Century. Each planted large gardens, raised a few chickens, a couple of pigs, and milked cows by hand for a handful of coins from the cheese plant. They raised alfalfa hay, barley and wheat for their cattle, which were fed at home in winter and pastured at Fish Lake in summer. They prayed with their wives and attended the Mormon Meeting House, now and then. Each owned a fine pair of work horses, two shirts, two long johns, one hat and a well-trained pony. They shaved with straight-edge razors. Neither owned a car, truck or tractor. Danís home had no electricity, no running water. His wife read after dark by the light of a coal-oil lantern.
About Amasa Guy:
Guy is a 75-year-old retired professor who writes out of a mid-20th Century Mormon frame of reference. He has published four books of nonfiction, dozens of articles and served for roughly 20 years as editor of professional journals, despite the fact that he can neither punctuate nor spell.
Guy is a novice poet who has published in Slipstream and has been accepted by JJournal.
He lives on a 50 acre farm with his beloved wife and with whatever kin moves in. He raises goats, a few cattle, a huge pig named Boaz and a crazy rooster named Pearl, as in sneak attack.
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