Ode To a Missouri Mule
As a country boy, up in the hills,
Life was tough, not much for frills.
I remember it well, yes, even now,
When spring time came and it was time to plow.
Afore sun up came, I was out of bed,
And pull the harness down, in the shed.
Then to the barn, for that dreaded chore,
To battle that four legged man-of-war.
A Missouri mule named Jezebel,
A demonic fiend than was spawned in hell.
She was Lucifer?s daughter, to say the least.
(That?s a compliment for that retched beast.)
While I woke her up and got her fed,
She gave me a look that could spook the dead.
I knew right then there would be a fight,
Just to plow up Momma'?s garden site.
So I hitched her up, set a goodly pace,
When her tail whips out, right across my face.
You gotta watch out, as a general rule,
When you?re at the south end of a north bound mule.
Made a sharp left turn, and sank that plow,
Wondering what that monster was up to now.
When she lifts her tail, with a bestial flair,
And the field?s consumed by exploding air.
With a stench of hell and fermented hay,
I knew I?d kill that mule today.
I swear I saw that jackass smile,
While I choked on her fumes, so vile.
So I turned my plow, got around the bend,
That?s when she started up again.
She let go a noxious blast,
Nearly thirty seconds, it seemed to last.
But you gotta be tough, as a general rule,
At the south end of a north bound mule.
Well, I had my fill of that horrid witch,
So I smacked her hard with a willow switch.
When I thought that took her down a peg,
She bit a chunk, clean outa my leg.
Spurtin'? blood, like a stupid fool.
At the south end of a northbound mule
It was living hell along that rout,
Trying to control that repugnant brute,
She would first give me a rearward glance,
Then a blast of old mule flatulence.
If I had an axe, I would have done her in.
I got stepped on, time and time again,
Got bit four times, left me bloody and hurt.
She even sprayed manure on my best plowing shirt.
It?s been sixty years, but I remember the fight,
With her wicked ways, and her nasty bite.
And I hope old Jezzy went to jackass hell
For what she dished out, she?ll do quite well.
As for me, I took a solemn vow,
That these hands would never again touch a plow.
So I joined the Army, but to my alarm,
I MET MORE JACKASSES THERE,
THAN DOWN ON THE FARM!!!
Yet plows and mules still give me the chills,
From that horrid event, up in them hills.
?Cause ya gotta to be a masochist, and a gol-darn fool,
To get behind an old Missouri plowing mule
Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014
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