Folks' Poems: Mike Moutoux Cowboy Poetry at the BAR-D Ranch www.CowboyPoetry.com

It wasn’t long ago; things weren’t much different then

Times were hard like they usually are and cowboys were gentlemen

Stubborn, sure, and calloused but mannered just as well

Young ones listened when their elders spoke as they had much to tell

Two weeks before Christmas and shoppers lined the street

Just outside Ma’s diner where cowboys often went to eat

At a booth near the front they were on their second cup

When the youngest of the three looked out the window and spoke up

“Why is it Christmas now is for stores to sell their stuff?

Seems the reason for the season would be holiday enough.”

The waitress passing by replied to what he said

“Last year some Christmas shopper bought you that hat that’s on your head.”

Of course the others laughed as the waitress walked away

And though he sputtered and he stuttered he had nothing else to say

Then the middle-aged cowboy raised his finger for them to pause

“And just who do we celebrate now: Jesus Christ or Santa Clause?”

Everyone in that diner sensed an answer in the makin’

But the cowboy who had spoken had returned to eggs and bacon

So an awkward silence fell in that ol’ diner there

Someone coughed, someone sniffed, another shifted in a squeaky chair

And the question lingered then as if nobody knew

Or if sharing their opinion was not the proper thing to do

And Christmas seemed to shrink there right before their eyes

Then, quietly the old cowboy, pushed back his chair to rise

He scratched his chin and searched his mind for words that would somehow

Give Christmas a sort of clarity that was sorely needed now

Clearly, speeches weren’t his thing; he shifted on his feet

While Christmas carols, distant now, played from speakers up the street

“Here is what I think,” came the soft-spoken voice

“Christmas is a time when we are reminded that we all have a choice

We don’t choose between a baby and a fat man and his elves

We choose to think more of others or more about ourselves.”

You could have heard a pin drop as the words sunk in

The old cowboy just stood there and the silence made him grin

There was just one thing left, and he knew what he must do

“So I guess lunch is on me, my friends, Merry Christmas to all of you.”

His words and the deed were both something to remember

I’ll bet the waitress is now hoping he will remind them each December

‘Cause when they tipped the woman who for years had called them “Honey”

They left behind some piles of actual folding money

Now I would love to tell you that the town was changed that day

I was there, but just passing through, so I really cannot say

But that speech I heard still serves as a nice reminder

That I can choose to be less selfish and perhaps a little kinder

It’s our choices that define us; make us who we are

Some of them still hold us back; others lead us to our star

Oh the lives we’d have if we could see our choices clear

Or if we’d get a nice reminder more than just once a year