The Chipmunk Kid
A hot breeze blew the other day, as the Chipmunk Kid rode into Troll Lake Town.
He rode on the oldest, slowest steed, that I had ever seen, a Snail called Abilene.
He came a packing, with a six shooter acorn gun, riding low, for an easy draw.
Armadillo Billy The Sling Shot Kidster, was his intended target, you know, y’all.
Sheriff Bunny Garrett said, he’d shot Billy down, but the word had gotten round.
Billy was alive and in our town, so The Chipmunk Kid wanted him found, right now!
A meaner glare, had never been seen, as it slowly moved, around our town. Tho…
Something seemed amiss; perhaps it was his crossed eyes, and petulant frown.
Climbing down from his stead, he landed face down, in the snail slime of his stead,
On that fateful day, Billy solemnly shook his head, at the craziness of this strange Kid.
The Chipmunk Kid had moxie, but little else of praise or glory, I can honestly say.
For when we told him Billy was here, The Chipmunk Kid, then fainted straight away.
Not to mention, his snail stead, old Abilene, shied away, when this happened, too.
Now, he could have grabbed the reigns, for Abilene had only moved, an inch or two.
But the Chipmunk Kid was a bit flighty, you see, as he took his lasso from his side.
Before he was done he’d tied himself up, and Dear old Billy, couldn't help but smile.
Armadillo Billy knew he’d won in that minute, not having to fire a single slingshot.
That’s how, it should be done, he knew, after seeing what the Kid had wrought.
He was happy, to just once see, ALL come out alive, still knowing that he had won.
They became fast friends, with time, as he taught The Kid the true meaning, of life.
They had lots of time, you know, as Abilene, couldn't seem to make it out of town.
Poor old Abilene was winded, from extended travel to find our beloved, little town.
It turned out; he wasn't a snail after all, just a very confused and ancient old slug.
So, as you might have guessed, we did naturally make room, as we usually do…
Yes, for the illustrious Chipmunk Kid, and Abilene, his dear old slug.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
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