tornado in Vern’s Place by Preacher Allgood

the skinny cowboy looked like a speed freak

the cowgirl looked like a gaunt cheerleader

and the feeling of trouble surrounded them 

like an aura of nasty bathroom graffiti

when I told that goat roper 

I wouldn’t sell him another pitcher

he bucked up and puffed up and shouted

do you know who I am?

he jabbed a thumb at the big buckle on his belt

I’m the son of a bitch 

that rode TORNADO to seven seconds

that’s who I am

I ought to be getting free beer out of this dump

I wish I had a dollar 

for every drunk cowboy that claimed he 

he sat one of those big-name bulls 

even for one second 

I told the phony braggart to get lost

and the idiot lunged at me from across the bar

I grabbed the sap I kept beside the register

his cowgirl grabbed him 

and one way or the other he crashed to the floor

out cold as hell

did he hit his head on the bar rail?

did he pass out from the three pitchers they drank?

did that leather and lead pacifier bump his precious noggin?

nobody knows and nobody cares

I helped the cheerleader drag him out to his truck

we stuffed him in, and she drove off

and I’m sure somewhere in a serene pasture of the afterlife

TORNADO, who was the greatest rodeo bull of all time

shook his mammoth head in waves of bovine laughter 

Preacher Allgood wrote some poems.  Some of them don't suck.  Then he got old and he wrote some more poems.