Mule Musings

by Jennifer Burville-Riley

Now I’ve heard The Man With No Name
tellin’ folks I don’t like people laughin’-
says I get the crazy notion
they’re laughin’
at me…

Well, that’s a load of hee-haw,
for sure:
I’m about as self-assured and confident a Mule
as you’re likely to find
either side of the Mexican borderline.
See, my Momma was a skittish chestnut mare,
and I get my fine set o’ teeth
and my elegant hooves from her
but my Pappy gave me
a donkey’s patience and an even temper…
shame about the ears.

So y’see I ain’t generally too fussed when folks are laughin’.
I confess, I do hate it when folks start shootin’.

Been shot at by Confederates,
been shot at by the Union,
been shot at by bandits, outlaws, inlaws,
mulateers, racketeers, pistoleers,
pursuin’ posses and ambushin’ enemies.
Been fired on by cannon, by pistol and by rifle…

By my rump, I sure could do without this rumpus nowadays.
Truth be told, I’d settle
for a quiet life,
a little paddock on the prairie.
Sometimes, I say to the cowboy:
look here, friend,
if we don’t take it easy soon,
I’m gonna tell all the folks in the next saloon
just what your Momma really christened
The Man With No Name.
Then we’ll see who gets the crazy idea
that people are laughin’.