By Lisa Shields
Date: 4 March 2001
If This Stetson Could Talk...Confessions of a Rodeo Clown's Widow...
Oh, its seen some miles, some towns, and such,
The felt more grey than black,
and losing it's blocking
but I'll keep it thank you.
See, I never want to forget Ford Taylor,
and before you get to thinking
that this is some la-dee-dah love story,
like i was the Sinequanon of that
shiftless silly lazy dumbass man's life---
think again.
No. This Stetson will remember the name
of every bad bottle dye job floozy
that Ford ever told I was his sister.
It could probably walk you to
the nearest no-tell Motel
with hourly rates,
or point you to the fella
with shine connections, or a flake factory in his trailer.
He wore it on Our wedding day---
but I bet it can't remember the vows
any better than he did.
Now before you think I do not respect rodeo clowns,
and the job they do,
let me be clear. Ford was one of a kind---
but just in case he has some unknown kin
with a sweet smile, and a sweeter line,
just in case his spiritual breathren
get a bead on me again---
I'll just keep this Stetson to remind me,
and whisper in my ear
that a woman needs more than a rough rider,
baggy pants, and grease paint
no matter how damned charmingly arranged.
Rest In Pieces Ford. And Thanks for the Hat.
Your loving Wife, Lily
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