THE OLD OUTLAW

My family (Along with Grandpa and Grandma) heading west in mid 1950s





In the early 1950s my family took several trips west that I remember as the best times of my childhood. As a tribute to my mother and father who had the wonderful foresight to give me such fond memories here is a poem that I wrote about a fictional outlaw.


My Mom and Dad and my two brothers and me
When I was a boy in nineteen hundred and fifty three
Took a trip way out west to the wilds of Wyoming
Ending up in small town on the third day of roaming
Way out in Wyoming
Our third day of roaming

Dad stopped in town as it was getting short of daylight
And asked an old man where we might find a camp site
The old man says I got the spot just for your tent
If you give me a ride out to the old Pitchfork Ranch
The old Pitchfork Ranch
A spot for your tent

The old man climbed into our station wagon a smelling
Of whiskey and beer and manure and proceeded to telling
The directions on how to arrive out at the old Pitchfork ranch
While pulling a bag of snuff from his hip and taking a pinch
Riding to the ranch
While taking a pinch

He had on an old Stetson hat red plaid shirt and cowboy boots
And clear blue eyes and teeth stained brown with tobacco juice
And when we arrived the old man says puller right over here
So we stop next to an old wood corral holding six or seven steer
Six or seven steer
Right over here

He steps in an old ranch house as we hear the old door creak
Then comes back and says the boss says set her up by the creek
And guides us down a hill to a creek rippling though the woods
And says pitch camp here and I’ll fetch you folks some firewood
Fetch some firewood
From out in the woods

The old man totes over an old wheelbarrow full of poplar sticks
And by then the sun has set and dad is lighting the lantern wick
The old man and I put together the makings of a roaring camp fire
He sits and tells of robbing banks and trains and smoky gunfire
Telling of trains and gunfire
Alongside a roaring camp fire

He says it seems like yesterday when I rode with old Sundance
We’d ride into the hole in the wall with that hidden entrance
And Butch would laugh and pull up his buckskin over the butte
We’d unmount and Butch and Sundance would divide up the loot
Divide up the loot
Just over the Butte
Now that was a hoot

People say them old rascals Butch and Sundance met their fate
In Bolivia or some such place in South America in ought eight
But I know it just ain’t so cause I seen old Butch in his model tee
He stopped to chew the fat with me at the Pitchfork in twenty three
Yes sir ree
Old Butch and his model tee
We shot the breeze
Back in twenty three

Outlaws and horses and trains and pistols a-blazing
While making me a campfire with the logs hot a-blazing
An old outlaw tells about the old days and a-longing
To be ridding old trails and out-riding those lawmen
His old heart a-longing
To be out-riding those lawmen

Outlaws and horses and trains and pistols a-blazing
While making me a campfire with the logs hot a-blazing
An old outlaw tells about the old days and a-longing
To be ridding old trails and out-riding those lawmen
My old heart a-longing
To be sitting and listening
To an old outlaw telling
Of his long ago riding


Copyright 2011 Wayne Nolen. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.