Looking Tightly Woven

This is my offering for the Wea’ve Written Weekly poetry prompt sponsored by David at the Skeptic’s Kaddish. This weeks Poet of the week is Lesley Scoble who has challenged us to write either a Minute Poem or a Shakespearian Sonnet. Before I present my poem I just want to clear the air. My great grandmother was a wonderful influence in my life. I share many of her traits – she was a poet, she had red hair, she was funny and kind. I was thinking of her Wednesday, mostly because I made bean soup after having bean burritos the day before and squid the day before that. I must come clean and say that my gastro-intestinal health is fine – now. But on Wednesday, it was a good thing that I spent some time in the garage cleaning and straightening! I present my Minute Poem that depicts a single minute in time on a humorous topic straight from my childhood!

Dead-eye Bessie

Grandma sat on a wooden chair
Loosed toots midair
Soundtrack was off
Speech and cough

Killed the cowboy with one sharp crack
Fell on his back
Gave a great kick
Then he went stiff

No better gunslinger was found
She shot him down
Her aim was true
When farts she blew

The rest of the story: My great grandmother lived with us when I was young to help around the house and to mind me and my younger sister as my mother was working full time and pregnant. It was a win-win for everyone. Back then my father (a technophile to the nth degree) decided that a television was a necessity. Now programing was not as diverse and technology was not as advanced. The sound reel was separate from the picture reel. Sometimes they got out of sync. The actors’ lips would be moving but no words would issue forth, until some time later when you’d hear their voices. So on this particular evening (complete with popcorn) the family gathered to watch a western. I have no idea which movie. However the sound reel was way off. There was a showdown and the cowboys drew their guns and fired. The loud crack of hot gas hitting a wooden chair with extreme force was in perfect time with the action. The cowboy crumpled and dramatically stretched out on his back, legs kicking before laying still. It became apparent that the “bullet” that killed the cowboy was from G’ma Bessie and not the sheriff’s gun as it went off way too late to have killed him! We roared with laughter and bestowed on her the title of “Dead-eye”! To this day my sisters and I will laugh and tell each other that “I’ve just shot a cowboy” or “another cowboy has bit the dust”!

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