Ol’ Duff slept in the bunkhouse in the corner by the wall
Nobody slept beside him. It was self-defense, that’s all
‘Cause Ol’ Duff was a chorus of expulsions in his sleep
That sounded like a freight train goin’ through a band of sheep!
His sinuses would vibrate ‘til the quilt slid off his bed.
His snores would roar unmuffled like a chain saw in yer head!
Alarming exhalations burst in intermittent blasts
Like dueling trumpets blaring loud enough to shatter glass!
The window panes would rattle and our covers rose and fell,
The wood stove was a bellows with each breath that he’d expel,
Amidst this raucous tumult we could hear him changing gears,
He’d belch like bullfrogs rutting, then a new sound filled our ears...
Big bubbles started forming deep within his swollen paunch
And rolled through him unhindered like torpedoes toward the launch!
We’d lay in apprehension as we listened to the din
In dread of what was coming when the final guns kicked in!
The new kid was a rookie and because the bunks were tight
We had him put his bedroll next to Duffy for the night.
He drifted off uneasy, what with Duffy’s serenade
But when the cookie crumbled, his whole bedroll came unmade!
St. Elmo’s fire went dancin’! Radiation filled the room.
A whoosh blew out the lantern, I heard a sonic boom!
An eerie echo rumbled. I thought I saw a flash.
The kid sat up electrified, his face as white as ash!
What was that?” I heard him cry, “I think I’m paralyzed!
I must be goin’ crazy…I see stars before my eyes!”
“No, you aint goin’ crazy but the world’s turned inside outs
‘Cause Duffy’s last contortion blew the roof right off the house!”
Baxter Black is a cowboy poet, former large animal veterinarian and entertainer of the agricultural masses. As he puts it, “he has a narrow following, but it’s deep!” He resides in Benson, Arizona. Additional information about him can be found at baxterblack.com.