Boot Hill Epitaphs
 
 


by Eric Ode
 
   
Buried here is Hector Shaw.
Thought he
were the
faster draw.
It’s purdy
clear poor Hector learnt
a faster draw
is what he weren’t.

Here lies Slim “Too Thin” McKay.
Lived on beans and apple cider.
He’d be with us still today
had he been a little wider.
Rode to town to meet the ladies,
posing as a Paris gent.
Took a bow and lost his trousers.
Died from the embarrassment.

Here lies Virginia—
we sure were
in awe of her.
Loved to go swimmin’,
and that was the flaw of her.
Nobody told her
the lake had
grown colder,
and that, as they say,
was the last that
we thaw of her.

Here lies the
body of dear Cousin Ned,
his hat and his
lasso beside him.
We’ll always
remember the last words he said:
“I bet you a dime
I can ride him.”

Text © Eric Ode, reprinted from Tall Tales of the Wild West (And a Few Short Ones), published by Meadowbrook Press. Illustration © Ben Crane. Any copying or use of this poem or illustration without consent is unlawful.


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