Better Off A Cowboy Poem by David Welch

My son's name is Dylan, was country raised
in the hills of Wyoming where cattle graze,
helped on the ranch, but never felt fulfilled,
hated his hometown as teens often will.

But he ‘did his time' until graduation,
went to college clear across the nation,
said by the best companies he'd be employed,
that he'd die rather than be a cowboy.

Now obviously this didn't please me,
but I waved it off, he was but nineteen,
he immersed into college as young folks do,
bought into all the leftist clap-trap to.

He though protesting would do the trick,
solve everything he found ‘problematic, '
started smoking weed, raved 'bout ‘the man, '
even griped to me that you can't ‘own land.'

Wouldn't celebrate Christmas when he came home,
kept spouting slogans that just make you groan,
I sent him to learn, but he just annoyed,
he'd be better off had he stayed a cowboy.

Then he graduated to the real world,
employers cared not for protesting churls,
only got hired by a coffee shop,
where he contracted the damn hipster rot.

Pretentious preening, loved the obscure,
wore the strange clothes to show he was ‘pure, '
disparaged most music, such a killjoy,
he though that was better than a cowboy?

Even that was not his greatest mistake,
Hipster progressed into full-blown snowflake!
If you didn't conform you deserved hate,
which he wrote up inclick-bait.

Harassed advertisers to silence ‘bad' views,
your freedom meant nothing, he knew ‘the truth, '
any awful tactic he would deploy,
hard to believe he'd ever been a cowboy.

But minds in their twenties often are blind,
and Dylan's allies came for him in time,
he said a ‘wrong' word, took out of context,
before he could speak up his career was wrecked.

With no options left, he traveled back here,
I put him to work riding with the steers,
his sadness was heavy, his pride devoid
at the though of becoming a cowboy.

But despite his words, Dylan had the skills,
made friends with the hands, kept up on his bills,
and his college learning helped with the books,
squeezed out extra dollars, didn't even cook!

And as he put down deep roots more and more,
made friends with the folk he used to deplore,
with a dangerous though his mind did toy,
maybe it was better to be a cowboy?

Now Dylan is turning thirty next spring,
and is starting to show the brains that time brings,
having survived the mad fires of you,
I can't wait to see what he'll grow into.

Will he stay on the ranch or strike on his own?
Does he want a family, or to stay alone?
Now that his true self he no longer avoids,
he's much better off being a cowboy.