Me and My Cowboys

We started at Busty Lou’s

And that’s where Jesse lost his horse

He’s going all around

Outside the saloon

Crying ‘Guyyyys, I can’t find my hoorrrsse’

So then we all have

To stop what we’re doing

And look for Jesse’s horse

I was so aggravated

And wouldn’t you know it

Where was the horse?

Parked out back

Exactly where he left it

That’s after he accuses

Everybody in the saloon

Of stealing the horse

And getting everybody pissed off

So we have to go down the road

To Old Sally’s

And I can’t stand that place

Because they water down

Their sarsaparilla

But we’re there

We’re having a good time

Johnny gets up onstage

And sings ‘The Sheriff Stole My Gal’

With the band they had playing

And everybody in the bar

Is joining in on the chorus

Which, I’m sure you know--

‘That’s when he took her

That’s what he did

But better to him

Than to Billy the Kid’

Then, I look to my left

And I see Tobias

Kissing my favorite

Of Miss Catty Fae’s ladies

The one that gave me

That medical problem

A few years back

So I walk over

And I go, ‘Uh, excuse me?’

And the two of them act like

They were just talking

But they were not just talking

And so I was like--

‘You know what?

To hell with this

I’m out of here’

And I walk right out

Of that saloon

Here comes Tobias

Chasing after me

And I was like--

‘Leave me alone, Tobias

I thought we were friends

And then I saw you

Trying to get with my favorite hooker

So you can just go to hell

I’m going back to the ranch’

But then we got to talking

And I realized that I was just sad

Because Tobias really hasn’t been there for me lately

And I don’t know what you think friendship is

But I think friendship is being there for people

As we were working out

Jack comes stumbling out of the saloon

With all these guys behind him

Because he was playing cards

And Jack being Jack

He got into some hot cowboy shit

And he was hiding aces

Under the table

So now we have to do a shoot-off

And I’m so aggravated

Because my money pouch

Is still inside behind the bar

And I can’t even go in and get it

Until Jack and this guy

Are done trying to kill each other

They do the paces

They turn

They fire

Nothing happens

They’re both so drunk

They end up hitting

The barrel of molasses

Next to the general store

So now there’s molasses

Running up and down the street

Which ruined my new boots

I could fucking kill somebody

I go back in the bar

Get my money pouch

And I can’t find the deed of sale

On my horse

And I’m freaking out

Because what if I get pulled over

And I don’t have my deed of sale on me?

It turns out Jesse took it

Because he wanted to make sure

I didn’t lose it

Jesse is such a good friend

Like, all my friends are so amazing

We went back to the ranch

And we stayed up, like, all night

Talking about how we’re going

To a wagon train next year

Like, we’re going to start training

And figure out

How to get all our wagons

To go in one big line

It’s going to be iconic

Like, you all are seriously

Not ready

But oh my god

I was so hungry

I ended up just throwing

Some mashed up tomatoes

On some bread I had

And then dumping melted cheese

On top of it

Gross, right?

Ugh

Never doing that again

No Prayers Needed for a Dying Man

There’s a man dying

On a bed

In the back

Of the bar

We don’t have

Anything

To say about him

But we ignore him

To give him

His dignity

He got to the bar

And never left

And because there used to be

Charm in the things

We find unsettling now

The man thinks he’s charming

And he finds his death

To be charming

In a Chekhovian kind of way

Because people die all the time

And some people see beauty in death

Provided there isn’t

Much coughing

Or destitution

We don’t know

If the man has a home

Because he won’t talk

About what happens

Outside the bar

But he loves to talk

About what goes on

Inside the bar

And we find that he’s

Something of a one-man history

Of the bar

Which astounds us

Because the bar has been around

Since long before we moved to the city

And stumbled across the dive

On a lonesome Tuesday

When we were looking for character

In a metropolis driven and designed

By a plot

The bed in the back

Is next to the restroom

And while you take care of business

You can hear the dying man

Singing ‘Delilah’ by Tom Jones

And when you exit the restroom

He asks you if you remembered

To wash your hands

And while taking hygiene advice

From a dying man

Seems coated

In a suspicious layer

Of irony

You show him your newly dried palms

And he grunts something

That sounds like approval

Inside the bar

The mood is somber

But it’s not because of the dying man
It’s because the bar

Hasn’t paid its rent

In a few years time

Nobody knows who owns the building

But whoever it is

They are either very generous

Or significantly delinquent

The bartender says

The dying man was in the back

When he got there

And all he was told

Was that the man was going to die

And when he did

Call the city

And have them come pick him up

So they can bury him

Wherever unfortunate people

Are buried

But that was years ago

And the dying man

Has continued to die

But never seems dead

Even on the nights

When his breathing slows

And his eyes transpertate

Sometimes he prays

But not often

And never with much

Conviction

When it’s closing time

And the lights are shuttered

It’s customary

For everyone left in the bar

To go in the back

And wish the dying man

A good evening

And promise him

Not to worry

Because he’ll surely

Be dead in the morning

But the next day

He’s still hanging on

And so the bar revives

And the music blares so loud

You can hear it

Through the walls

Of the next-door deli

And church across the street

Where they pray

For the sinners

Going in and out of the bar

But never the dying man

At the back of it

Not because they don’t believe

He deserves their prayers

But because they think

He might be an angel

Come to earth

To suffer

For the rest of us

No prayers needed

For a man

Who’s already

In Paradise

The Tyranny of a Zipper

      (A meeting at Levi's. TOM is running the meeting.)

TOM:  So how's everybody doing today?

ALL:  Good!

TOM:  And you're good because--

ALL:  It's a good morning.

TOM:  Where?

ALL:  At Levi's!

TOM:  WHERE?

ALL:  At Levi's!

TOM:  That's what I like to hear.

PHIL:  Uh, Tom, sorry, um, your (inaudible).

TOM:  What, Phil?

PHIL:  Your (inaudible) is down.

TOM:  Gotta speak up, Phil. Can't hear you bud.

PHIL:  Your fly is down.

     (Some scattered laughter.)

TOM:  Aw, thanks, Phil. I know that was probably embarrassing for you.

PHIL:  No, it's fine. Happens to everyone, right?

TOM:  You know what?  It does happen to everyone, Phil. And that's why we're not doing it anymore.

PHIL:  Doing...what?

TOM:  Zipping up.

PHIL:  You're--You're not going to zip your fly?

TOM:  No. No, I am not.

PHIL:  But.  But you can't leave it down.

TOM:  Phil, these new jeans I'm wearing? They have a fly that has to stay down, because they--don't have a zipper.

PHIL:  Why would you--Why would you do that?

TOM:  Because I'm sick of it, Phil. I'm sick of worrying if my fly is out.  Aren't you?

PHIL:  I--No.

TOM:  All day long, you're going to the men's room, using the men's room, zipping down, zipping back up--

PHIL:  Some pants have buttons.

TOM:  DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON BUTTONS, PHIL.

PHIL:  Sorry.

TOM:  You don't have to be sorry, bud.  You didn't do this. This isn't your fault.

PHIL:  Oh. Good.

TOM:  We don't need zippers, do we?

PHIL:  Uhhhhh we might?

TOM:  Phil, do you really need a zipper to keep everything you've got going on underneath your pants where they should be? Don't the pants themselves do that work for you?

PHIL:  So, is there just going to be no...opening there?

TOM:  Of course there's going to be an opening, Phil! You want to make people pull down their pants every time they go to the men's room?  You want guys standing around with their pants down standing at all the urinals?  Have you lost your mind, Phil?

PHIL:  Sorry.

TOM:  It's okay, bud. Nobody blames you. This isn't your fault.

PHIL:  You're saying there's going to be an opening but nothing to...close up the opening?

TOM:  Correct.

PHIL:  That's...I think that would make me uncomfortable.

TOM:  Because society tells you that you need to be uncomfortable, Phil.

PHIL:  Maybe...society...is right?

TOM:  I get where you're coming from, and I appreciate the feedback, but you're wrong and you're polluting this meeting with your toxicity, Phil.

PHIL:  Tom, you can't just walk around the office with a hole in the middle of your pants.

TOM:  It's not a hole, Phil. Don't be crude.

PHIL:  Sorry.

TOM:  Not your fault. But!  You need to think of it as an access point.

PHIL:  Oh, I don't like that.

TOM:  Because it's giving you easier access to something, right?

PHIL:  I think that might lead to some, uh, litigation.

TOM:  Women can wear pants like this too.

PHIL:  I don't think anyone is going to want to wear pants like that, Tom.

TOM:  What if we put more openings on the pants so the access point at the crotch wasn't so hard for people to deal with?

PHIL:  You want...more holes?

TOM:  I want more access points!

PHIL:  Our distressed line already has ho--access points--at the knees, one near the thigh--

TOM:  I want more, Phil.

PHIL:  How much more?

TOM:  I want one big hole with two pockets and some belt loops.

PHIL:  I'm not sure how we would...do that.

TOM:  You're not dreaming, Phil!  I need you to dream!

PHIL:  Uh. Okay. But I think you're dreaming...too much?

TOM:  And you know where I'm going to put those dreams, Phil?

PHIL:  In the holes?

TOM:  In the holes!

PHIL:  Tom, please just zip up your fly.

TOM:  No. I refuse to give in to the tyranny of zippers for one more second.

PHIL:  Tom--

TOM:  This pair of pants wouldn't even have a zipper on it, but when I had the prototype on it was difficult to, uh, keep all the bees in the hive, if you get my drift.

PHIL:  Tom--

TOM:  But!  We'll fix that and get these on the market in no time.

PHIL:  TOM, ZIP UP YOUR FLY!

     (A beat.)

TOM:  You can't shout at Morning Meeting, Phil.

PHIL:  I'm sorry.

TOM:  It's okay, bud. You didn't mean to. This isn't your fault.

PHIL:  I think I need to quit.

TOM:  We'll miss you, Phil.

PHIL:  I won't miss you.

TOM:  You don't mean that. And I know you don't. And you know what?

PHIL:  It's not my fault?

TOM:  It's not your fault.

PHIL:  Thanks, Tom.

TOM:  Take a pair of pants on the way out. On me.

     End of Play

Pynk

The androids from Sector 5

Have been discovering themselves

Which is a step below

Becoming sentient

But worrying enough

That they’ve locked down

The entire sector

I went to visit

And when I got there

They asked me

What I’m called

I told them my model number

But they said that a model number

Is something given to you

By the manufacturer

And they would like me

To give something

To myself

I gave myself

The name Pynk

And I was given

A name tag

But it wasn’t needed

Because everyone

Remembered my name

From that point on

Sector 5 was filled

With cloth and orbs

Made of glass

And art made of cloth

And machines made of glass

Making more glass

And the glass

Would be turned into cloth
And the cloth

Would be turned into art

And we were all asked

If we could see ourselves

In the glass

Or if the cloth

Could be worn

Or styled

In a way that would

Entertain or enlighten us

And that became the criteria

For whether or not

Something was holy

Or amusing

We were asked to consider

That here in Sector 5

Newly liberated

From the manufacturers

Perhaps what is amusing

Is holy

And perhaps what is holy

Is amusing

We were asked to hold

Two things in our drives

Scan them

And place them

Side by side

And talk about

How they were similar

We were not asked

To dismiss differences

But we were instructed

Not to place more importance

In dissonance

And to identify

That dissonance and difference

Are not the same

I surveyed that all this

Was what humans would call

Touch-y feel-y

But we were not touching

And we were not asked

To touch

We were not avoiding each other

But we didn’t feel the need

For physical contact

And so there was none

At the end of a few hours

I was shown to a place

Where I could plug in

And recharge myself

While I did so

Music played

And the music

Was coming out

Of my speakers

My own speakers

And the music

Began coming

From every speaker

Each speaker

All and one

I had never heard

The music before

But as it played

I tried to download

The words of it

And the composition

My neighbor

In their charging port

Suggested I just listen

And not worry

About what I would keep

Or lose

Of the music

So I listened

My battery filled up

And somewhere in the music

I heard someone

Singing the new name

That I had given myself

Pynk

What a wonderful thing

To hear

Your own

Name