Joe M. Funkhouser

(Hobart, OK, USA)

Barbed Wire Baskets - Poem by Joe M. Funkhouser

How did I ever get in such a fix.
I had a barb attached to Ole Saint Nick.
I had another stuck in his elastic.
Now, I'm all wound up, I'm a barb wire basket. Why a hundred years ago I stretched the land.
I'd grab the britches of any passing man.
I was what was called the cowboy pride.
Rub me wrong and I'd take some hide. When I was new I was just like most.
I couldn't be much help without a strong host.
To hold my strands and barbs at my best level.
Farmers and ranchers I helped settle. Many a bird has found rest and a place to roost.
I'd stop those tumble weeds until the wind gave a boost
I'd help stop the enemy when we went to war.
I'd be springy and tough, my barbs were a horror. I closed off the old frontier and open range.
Stopped some fusses and helped some people change.
Time caught up to me and I couldn't outlast it.
I'm rusty and happy, I'm a barb wire basket.


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Read poems about / on: pride, change, war, happy, people, wind



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003



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