The urban cowboy swaggered in
sporting jeans and boots
and a quarter cigar.
Tipping his Sears-bought Stetson
he leaned his hulk against the counter.
“Say Jeff, old buddy.
You think you might know how
to fix this generator up?
I need it back by next Friday.”
Jeff held his professional cool
knowing even a boorish customer
is first and always “the customer”
and restored the part as asked.
Autumn had turned the maples bright
when Jeff jumped then cringed
on hearing the pickup door slam.
“Oh God, here comes the Stetsoned legend.
What a way to wreck a Monday.”
The cowboy walked up empty handed
and paused before he spoke.
“Say Jeff, me and some buddies
are fixing to go huntin’ next weekend.
Sure like to have you join us.”
Jeff’s tower of disdain
collapsed like a castle of cards.
He declined with sincerest thanks
and for the first day in all life
regretted he’d never taken up hunting.
September, 2008
Robert Charles Howard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jeff-s-generator-shop/
