The Old Cowboy

They listen. Some sing along. Some might even think I'm a real cowboy.

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“Hey, hey, hey, Is that whiskey? You can’t drink whiskey in here. I don’t have a license”. Take it easy son. I know you don’t have a license to sell whiskey. I’m not buying whiskey; I’m drinkin’ whiskey. Adds a little extra to the caffeine. If it makes you feel better I’ll keep the flask in my Jacket. “Yeah, well, alright, don’t let the kids see you pouring that little extra in your coffee”. Mmm, of course not. Don’t want these stoner kids corrupted by the sight of alcohol.

“Bout time for my next set.

I strum the introduction to Ghost Riders in the Sky. Sometimes I mutter a little about how this song is connected to a song they might know better, Riders on the Storm, and even earlier, Ride of the Valkyries. They stare at me blankly.

That’s why I’ve been paring down my stage talk. No point to it. These kids don’t know nuthin’ further back than last week. They’re not stupid, just ignorant, and mostly indifferent to the value of anything. It’s ain’t just because of the dumbed-down schools either, it’s something else, some creeping sickness in the culture.

Maybe those digital gizmos got something to do with it. Maybe I’m just a cranky ole cuss.

I shouldn’t lump ’em all together. A couple nights ago I was introducing a Ramblin’ Jack Elliot song with some story he used to tell. After the set this pretty young thing came up to me; said she loved my music, said she had all of Ramblin’ Jack’s recordings. Well, that raised my eyebrows. Didn’t know kids these days ever bought record albums.

She said she’d downloaded them from YouTube for her college class on folk music. “It’ so cool you were friends with Ramblin’ Jack Elliot”. Yeah, well, Jack had a lotta friends.

Don’t think there’s much harm in lettin’ her believe I was closer to Ramblin’ Jack than I really was. I did meet him once.

“Alright! Let’s welcome back to the stage, Lonesome Dave and his Songs of the West, and don’t forget, from now ‘til closing, we’ve got half-price on peppermint-mocha café au Lait”. I open the set to scattered applause, scraping chairs, and orders for half-price mocha.

I’m an old cowhand, from the Rio Grande, My legs are bowed, and my cheeks are tanned.

They listen. Some sing along. Some might even think I’m a real cowboy. Mostly they don’t give a damn one way or the other. I guess I don’t either. I’ve been doin’ this cowboy act since the sixties. Now I’m so beat-up and grizzled I look the part.

Whoopee ti yi yo, git along, little dogies.

By K. L. Shipley

Website: https://www.eclecticessays.com