The Unfortunate Story of Cowboy Trail
One man’s unfortunate truth of what happens when you’re caught short on the highway.
Out of his Chevy, he had to hop,
For the deep down, rumble just would not stop.
He foresaw the beginnings of an epic fail
Down on the freeway of Cowboy Trail.
I was awoken just this morning, with a call from my bro,
Reliving quite the story — said it was an all-time low.
If you choose to read the words that I write here today,
Keep in mind, this ain’t no story of mere child’s play.
He was driving down the highway, singin’ some tunes,
Thinking of his girl — they’re lovebird loons.
On his way to work, mindin’ his own
When his stomach started doing a far-out groan.
It hit with a force that is seldom ignorable
And in a matter of seconds, his thoughts turned deplorable.
As a matter of fact, he needed to poo,
And sure as shit, it’d be a messy debut.
Since he wasn’t an infant nor was he infirm,
His next course of action was justly confirmed.
With cheeks that were clenched in a resolute way
He knew he’d have to be graceful, just like a ballet.
Out of his Chevy, he had to hop,
For the deep down, rumble just would not stop.
He foresaw the beginnings of an epic fail
Down on the freeway of Cowboy Trail.
The road he was travelling was busy and vast,
His options were slim, and he had to think fast!
So he found a little nook, on the highway’s shoulder,
And scrambled on out, his stomach a boulder.
He tried to hide away from on-passers eyes
“They can’t see me here,” were his outright lies.
About to squat by the wheel of Ol’ Red
When he realized that the movement had already fled.
A 23-year-old man, and an awkward dance
On the side of the street, with poo-filled pants.
Gracelessly hunching on the edge of the road,
Hazarding how to unpack his newfound load.
Peeling off his pants and marble-streaked knickers,
He tried to avoid his slacks full of Snickers.
How did this happen?” he asked in a rant,
“I can’t show up like this to the plant!”
Had there ever been a sorrier sight?
If only he’d foreseen this fecal plight.
A lone man, transformed into a boy,Must’ve been a bad batch of last night’s bok choy.
Out of his Chevy, he had to hop,
For the deep down, rumble just would not stop.
He foresaw the beginnings of an epic fail
Down on the freeway of Cowboy Trail.
The leather seat was cold, but his heartbeat was fast,
As he speed-dialed his boss and nonchalantly asked,
“Would it be alright if I’m a little bit late?
I fear I’ve had some bad Chinese on my dinner plate.”
He walked into his house, where his girly stood loyal,
And she washed out his socks that were spoiled with soil. What a gal I got,
He thought with such splendour
I wonder if she’d agree to scrub off my fender.
Finally, he was back on the road
With pants that were clean and free of his load.
That’s when he called his sister to tell her the tale,
Of his unfortunate morning, out on Cowboy Trail.
Out of his Chevy, he had to hop,
For the deep down, rumble just would not stop.
He foresaw the beginnings of an epic fail
Down on the freeway of Cowboy Trail.
Lindsay Rae Brown is a writer who enjoys the occasional poem, especially if it’s about soiling oneself.