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  >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Comedy >> ID #1434392  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
BILLY THE KID ON THE ET HIGHWAY
McCarty stumbles upon Roswell with a mule named Louigi-- Sr Center WIN!!
Rated:
13+
by
This item does not allow ratings.



MICKEY MARAUD
by Mary Moffett aka
FICTION!! FANDANGO!!


Inside a covered wagon
Mickey, a tabby cat
Lay atop a bundle.
He hears scuttlebutt
Mixed with scandal.

Boys cry out Western yarns
About McCarty alias Billy The Kid,
Whose desperado-ship knew no bounds.
Where desert territory looms all around.

Sure, Billy rode for freedom
During the Lincoln County Wars.
Girls sang their lungs out,
"Billy is a marauder!
He rode across the West!
When it comes to fightin'
Billy is the best!"

Now, Mickey, hot and thirsty
Made up his mind.
He'd escape, to Billy find.
He'd seek a daring career.
With McCarty,
He'd maraud and ride
Right into the limelight
By Billy's side.

Meanwhile, in tumbleweeds
He'd hide.
Day after tomorrow,
He'd gorge on prairie chicken.
So Mickey maps out his fate
Before it is too late.

That night, Mickey jumps the floorboards
Away from the hell-hole wagon.
He'd be forever free at Billy's knee.
Alas, due to cactus horrors,
Dazed by excessive heat,
Mickey ran thru mighty sand dunes.
His feet kept a steady beat.
Where there were no rains.
Mickey the Marauder dreams
About the plains,
A sleepy tabby cat by day.

Finally, Lil Mick comes upon Louigi,
McCarty's confidant.
Oh, that wily mule,
Louigi snorts: "Cat, damn nigh
Don't approach the Kid tonight.
Billy's in his cups."
Even with fresh warning
Brave Mickey steps right up.

"Who goes there?" shouts Billy.
"My mule aint no fool.
Don't act so gowl dern silly.
Whoever you are."

Embarrassed beyond belief,
Mickey's words rang out
Above Billy's inquisitive shout.
Above random gunshot
Thrown into the fire.
'Bout this time
Mickey became a real live wire.

"They call me, Mickey Maraud.
Mr. Henry McCarty is whom I seek.
I heared tell, Captain Billy
Is the absolute best
Marauder in the entire WEST!"

Billy went hee hee hee.
"Approach, Mick. Let's interview yee.
To observe what can you do.
With my accurate perception
I note ye be just a wee cat.
Why you'd fit inside my hat!"

Dazed with fright,
Mickey slunk upon his belly.
Serpentine, you know.
Bathed by lantern light
Yet willing to accept his plight.

Mick rolls right up to the fire
Standing on his hind paws,
A courageous cat for hire.
"Well, Kid. There be
A couple of things.
I'm good with edible creatures
With flapping wings.
I've a way with vermin
Found in many fine places.
Although, what I do best is fish."

"Hear that, Billy.
Cat claims he's an angler,"
A voice rang out.
But Mickey saw no faces.
Of booze he beheld no traces
In Billy's kind offer,
"If you catches
Us a trout or two,
I guess to the gang,
We'll halfta add you."

Thus it came to pass
On July 4, 1876,
A few years before
The Second Lincoln County War.
On the celebration night
When the country turns
One hundred years old
Maraud's officially blessed.

For years & years, ditties rang
Out across the land
Telling stories of how ....
Mickey The Marauder,
Came into Billy's camp.

Billy held that cat so dear.
Nary a skunk, nor a rat,
Nor mouse drew near.
Because of Billy's cat.

Oh Billy! Oh Billy!
He came out of the West.
Of all of the marauders,
Billy was the Best.

Mickey, to give him credit,
Was born to maraud.
Knew it in his bones early on.
Billy was Mickey's freedom fighter,
And ... According to US History
They say McCarty kept his cat
Along with his pistol
Close to his chest.

Why on a starry night
You'll see them clinging
And perfecting
The ancient craft ... still ...
Two Marauding spirits
In them thar hills.

Oh MIC-KEY! Oh Mic-key.
You were born to maraud.

They tell of daring raids
Back in the days
When out of the wild west
There rode, one of the best.

Oh Billy! Oh Billy!
The best, gosh dang marauder
Of the entire West!

And feisty Mickey?
That striped cat
Along with all his prodigy
To this day proudly
Accept second best.

The End

Think "Ghost Riders in the Sky," a song ... when you read this.

<><> <> <> <> <> <> <> <><> <> <> <> <><>



Intro: Ride into wilderness on a mule named Louigi. ROSWELL THE HOAX!

BILLY THE KID ON THE EXTRATERRESTRIAL HIGHWAY

By Mary Moffett

Henry McCarty here,
Alias William H. Bonney.
Me, myself and I,
Alias Billy the Kid.

Born Nov. 23, 1859
Escaping the hangman's jig
Until July 14, 1881, when
Some say Pat Garret pumped two
Shots in my chest.
Well, you know the rest.
This was long after the Lincoln County Wars.

Well, way back in April of '81
Lazing in the hoosegow,
Reading a comic book,
I tell you true
As the sky is blue.
I musta had a vision.
The mind in dream-state
Makes illogical provision.

Well. For the record, gents
And ladies fair.
Here's a fair, first-hand account
Of an occurrence what occurred
To me and my mule, Louigi.

On July 4, 1946
'Tis the tongue twisting truth
For nigh on nearly ninety years
Of life immortal, to boot.
We took it upon ourselves
To venture upon Area 51.

Beside Nevada State Highway 375
To travail a road, we'd never been.
Popularly known to all and sundry
Plus their friends and kin
As The Extraterrestrial Highway.

We was in good form.
Hot, dusty, both of us
Needing sleep.
Picking our way among
Desert cacti with our
Own illusions to keep.
Persuaded by mirages
Which lay ahead
To kick up some dust.

Being cranky, creaky and immortal
Takes a toll on a body.
And Louigi wasn't shoddy.
He moved us along alright,
Night after starry night.

There it lay, pals.
The sun-blinding stage THEY set!
We was in Nevada
When our bleary eyes met
A sign that read:
Roswell, New Mexico.

You can't fool an old sod,
But maybe our mental
Map was a tad wrong.
Blowing in the breeze we was.

I'm specifically partial
To new terms like FBI, CIA,
Air Force, aliens, UFOs.
Even I smelt the stench
Of an ornery Federal Martial.

We hunkered down in prickly sage brush,
On an adjacent mountain ridge.
It was all I could do
To calm my mule.
With nary a sane ambiance,
A safety bridge
Toward reality.

We watched in adroit confusion.
Smitten by our intrusion.
As they put that space ship up
In record time.
About six hours.
Louigi was upset
Since they smashed
His meal of desert flowers.

Gleefully, I approached without
A spate of caution.
Redundant in my awkward motion,
I climbed the rickety ladder.
Went reluctantly inside,
Hoping for some icy lemonade,
Any single sign of hospitality.

All I seen was little green men.
And these fellas was all
Very, very dead!

So the geeks in uniforms and headsets
Spies one, William H. Bonney.
By the Holy Ghost,
Now what do I do?
They gave chase.
I got off four rounds,
Hit one in the face.

We skedaddled,
Unaware at the time
Long after drawing private conclusions.
The guv'mint needed to gather
The latest Outer Space information.

Thus the invention,
The daring Area 51 intervention.
Roswell, the hoax
Is not but a dishonorable
Conception
Upon reality.

Thus, my take on what actually graced
The desert plains .. way back in 1947.
One day, you'll see from heaven
This misconstrued previous recognition.

Amigos, the aliens were made of rubber.
The saucer was aluminum.
I even seen the nurse
Who played a major roll.
Good looking dame,
To be sure.

'Twas a time when the word
Bribe was king.
Especially paving the way
For folks on the scene
Who later acted brainwashed
By the ruse.

They wasn't extraterrestrials
Nor flying saucers
In Old New Mexico.
They was Hollywood actors, though.

Proof positive, from an eyewitness,
One infamous dude.
A marauder, a villain,
A rube.
Who led a randy life of crime.
Besides, these stories is always fun
In the tellin'.
The gift of gab
Ain't no sin.
Now, you can tell your great-gran kin,
You reckoned upon
Henry Mc Carty in your own lifetime.

Signed, Billy the Kid

Contest Enty for COUNTRY MOM'S Monthly Poetry Contest, down at the Senior Center Forum.


Author's Note:
Roswell, New Mexico's so=called space visitation of 1947 is currently not acceptable to UFologists in the know.

Word is out that the US Air Force, hoping to begin a space program staged the event. In order to bring together all documentation of UFO sightings.

Then denied the entire recognition of the event at Roswell. Which prompted UFologists to push for it's conjecture of actuality.

Debris at the scene was man made.

This is in accordance with an msnb.com search and found on Wikepdia.

As for me, no I don't believe.

As for those of us who met the last of the original eyewitness who say they live there ...

Well? That too goes into the chronicles of being a tad bit iffy. Since most residents didn't know about the space ship at the time.

As for the A&E Specials, The History Channel, and Discovery Channel toasting their takes on Area 51.

Best look deeper into Area 71 and Area 61. Well, a horse of a different color also wins races, my dears.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
© Copyright 2008 FICTION!! FANDANGO!! (UN: teffom at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
FICTION!! FANDANGO!! has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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