Jo Lynn Empties the Bullwhip

Saturday was the very last night that
Public smoking would be legal in Waco.
All the western bars were packed full
Of stockyard smokers and city folks who
Gave up their smoking habits years ago
But joined the wake for their common friend,
Known by all as Our Personal Freedom.

The Bullwhip Bar and Grill was a fog of smoke
From tobacco and the slabs of red meat
Piled up and burning on the open flame grill.
The crowd, fully committed to drunkenness,
Was differentiated only by degrees of will.
A Western Swing band was shaking the floor.
No one was dancing but no one stood still.

It was hot, crowded and rowdy when
She came through the doors left open
In a puny effort to ventilate the house.
The smell of smoke and burning grease,
Despite the open windows, still contained
Enough carcinogens to scare the purists
Whose arguments the courts sustained.

She regretted wearing her new skirt and blouse.
"Well," she thought, “its the cleaner’s challenge.
Might as well add some well-earned stains,
From my rut well-mixed with the musk of men
Who’re willing to work their charms to get in
These bits of high-class cloth stretched across
My rounded rump to get a feel of silky skin.”

She looked around for the best place to be seen.
There was no place to sit and but one place to lean.
Pausing to read the NO GUNS ALLOWED sign,
She smiled about her .25-caliber semiautomatic
Packed in her King Ranch purse so tight,
Then pushed through the crowd of mostly men
Who parted just enough to squeeze between.

She was not a small woman by anyone’s measure
At first she tried to not allow touching at all,
But before she could get to the big copper bar
She was tingling like a show horse curried,
And thoroughly felt-up by a dozen strangers
So her movements grew slow and unhurried
Spreading lingering scents of available treasure.

At the bar she tapped her nails on the copper,
Reaching between two thick-necked ranchers,
Who moved quickly apart to give her some space.
The biggest stood right up offering his place to her.
She smiled a “thanks”, sat on the still warm leather,
Crossed her legs, put her cigarettes on the bar,
And ordered a shot of Quervo and a cold Lone Star.

"Boys," she said, "I'm here to have some fun tonight,
Don’t want no balks, no slobberin’ and no fights.
Just do us all a favor, and don’t try to control me—
Don't let me get hurt either—I can take a hard ride,
But all Hell will be raised before I’ll be denied.
Protect me if I ask for it, but just watch if I don’t,
And I’ll send you home both sore and satisfied."