A poem by Mike W. Jones
He climbs on the bronc and says, "lets go you onnery cuss!" The old outlaw soon tires and slows down.
The outlaw bronc awaits his rider,
Up steps Slade, the loner, misfit and outsider.
He studies the bronc with a practiced eye.
There's gonna be more fireworks than the Fourth of July.
With nostrils flaring and eyes wild, the bronc kicks up a fuss.
Slade hangs on and sits the saddle well,
They will talk about this ride for quite a spell.
But the jubilant smile on Slades' face turns to a frown,
When a little girls says, "Hurry up Mr.! I want to ride, too!"
As she glares at the man on the coin-operated pony, Ol' Blue.
