Deadwood Concubines and the Petticoat Pensioner

he lives off
a prostitute's earnings
they call him a sunday man
his voice a prairie tenor that
of a sqeaky coyote they wear their
quaker bonnets and wedding rings

I ride for the brand
loyal to the ranch a roastineer
my duty to roast corn over an open fire
still in the husk drink whiskey and write
past dusk I settled the hash I could give a shit
less 'bout the shivaree I'm happy with my cast-iron
skillet with three legs I don't suck hind tit being last
and getting the least

"ten-cent man
trifle of testosterone"
what I told doc in tiger town
where faro is played he said "wake snakes
raise a ruckus deadwood concubines and the
petticoat pensioner we play for big stakes in
this laudanum zone"

the judas steer
leadin' the cattle
to the slaughter house
wyatt spared the meat hook
to spoil the huckleberry above
the persimmon he deputized the second
row qwerty typed a brothel inspector query
"can you come the girls have something up their
blouse an' charlie utter has requested madam up her
quote on foreplay rum one six-ounce glass to sustain erection
and loosen the tongue"

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist