John Luffman ~ Acworth, Georgia
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Relief At The Line Shack
Bill. the relief man, rode toward camp; he was a welcome sight.
March 31st and right on time - John Gunn could leave that night.
He'd watched the herd all winter at the farthest camp from town
And now he had a whole month off to just carouse around.
While John was saddling up his horse, Bill had a look around
And felt a "mite bit" troubled at some eerie things he found.
He leaned back in a chair to think and it was then he spied
John's boot prints going up one wall and down the other side!
The poker used to open up and close the heater door
Was bent into a pretzel shape and stuck into the floor.
Bill didn't know John all that well; would he have undertook
To bite a corner off the cabin's only hardback book?
Chair arms scratched deep by fingernails! Bill had to wonder why.
He knew his friend did not drink booze, but now the keg was dry.
Again he questioned him: "You say you wintered here just fine?"
"Not bad," said John, as he untied the pack mule's tether line.
"Good luck," he called as he swung up and headed for the trail.
"I want some cooking that's not mine; I hope I've got some mail.
Maybe some day we'll both have herds that we can call our own.
Oh, by the way, 'bout two weeks back I passed a kidney stone."
�2008, John Luffman
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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John "Rodeo" Gunn
b1941 ~ d1967
July 4, 1946
The buckaroo at City Park fell to the playground sand.
Another rider reined in fast and offered him her hand.
They laughed as rain began to fall - he offered her his hat
And off they ran to shelter where the two proud mothers sat.
She said, "My name is Betsy - we live down the street from you.
Let's be best friends and playmates 'cause there's so much here to do."
They rode wild horses every day - though they were bolted down -
The cowboy and the pretty girl, John Gunn and Betsy Brown.
August 12, 1961
The nurse at Roundup Days was trudging through the fairground sand.
A cowboy limped from his old truck and offered her his hand.
They laughed as rain began to fall - he offered her his hat
And off they went to first aid where more injured cowboys sat.
He said, "I'm John from Abilene; I think I'll be OK
But I drew ol' Cyclone and took the worst spill of the day."
"Hello," she said, "I'm Betsy Brown. Remember City Park?
We used to ride playground horses 'most every day 'til dark."
They laughed and cried and reminisced 'til night turned to daylight.
He promised her he'd telephone; he said that he would write.
But knowing that the life he chose left no room for a wife,
He aimed his truck toward Calgary and drove out of her life.
4:00 PM ~ June 1, 1967
The Captain in combat fatigues fell to the bloodstained sand.
A flight nurse ran to him and felt the death grip of his hand.
She cried and dragged him through the rain - wounds covered by her hat -
To surgeons at the triage tent where others wounded sat.
The inbound rounds fell at mail call during a monsoon rain
And men and mail from home were blown across the camp's terrain.
He screamed in pain but made no sound; he heard his comrades moan,
Then closed his eyes and slipped into the deepest sleep he'd known.
Later, a doctor said, "Nurse Brown, this is the strangest thing;
The pilot who lies dying here was calling out your name.
His ring was shaped like Texas with a diamond horseshoe.
He held a torn newspaper that was from your hometown, too."
6:00 PM ~ June 1, 1967
A medic said, "I hope I'm wrong but from his clothes I know.
It's that Marine who's due to leave - we called him Rodeo.
He said he lived out in the west and rode the circuit there;
That ring he won in '62 with lots of points to spare.
He rode a water buffalo and tried to make it buck
and mounted horns across the hood of Colonel Wilson's truck.
He wore those hand-tooled western boots; it drove the Gen'ral mad,
But he's the best chopper pilot this outfit ever had."
Flying the injured and the dead back south to Cam Rahn Bay,
She gently touched his body bag and paused a bit to pray.
A deathly chill consumed her and she cursed the damp and dark -
Then all the pieces fell in place . . . . "It's John from City Park."
�2008, John Luffman
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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