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Lightnin Bug Nesbit
© 2000 Tom Hale
I’d been a card carryin wino ten years at the time, Given up little or nothin to pursue a life of grime. In lieu of bein a loser and a doer of average sin, I chose to remain in oblivion believin how great I could have been. The sun was goin down behind some garbage cans when I felt someone stare. I looked up from my dime novel daydream and saw him standin there: He was a short, brown feller, with the saddest eyes—he was ragged as your grandma’s goat; We shared a half a bottle, felt a little better, then he said, and I quote: He said, “You’d never know it to look at me now, but I was voted least likely to fail. Take my word, man, I once had the world and a Brahma Bull by the tail. I could make the most callous cowboy laugh ‘till the tears streamed down. Shake hands with Lightnin Bug Nesbit, the Rodeo Clown.”
He told me all about the old rodeo days and his alcoholic, beautiful wife, And the hundred times he’d took a hoof in the head and saved the all around cowboy’s life, About the barrel with the peddles and the way they’d cram 20 clowns in a midget car. He got a note from Bob Hope that said, “I want you to know how funny I think you are.” Well, I knew he was lyin, but who am I another’s faults to find? One look at him would tell you that he could only be a clown in his mind. But I’ll never make fun of another’s dream or cast doubt on his monolog. Hell, he could never be no rodeo clown: Lightnin Bug was dog. Most never know it, but dogs can talk as well as any woman or man. But you gotta ride the Night Train together before you can understand. And I’m proud to say we rode that train through every alley in this town— Highballin with Lightnin Bug Nesbit, the Rodeo Clown.
Me and my fuzzy partner walked many a friendly mile. I never got tired of his rodeo tales, ‘cause waggin ‘em made him smile. His toenails clickin on the concrete, my pocket full of liquid pears, Mumblin Jerry Jeff Walker songs, sort of like we were sayin our prayers. I don’t know the month, but I know it was a Sunday; some kids from a church came by. They called me their brother and give me a Bible, I couldn’t help but cry. I know they thought it was thanks to them and those pretty, pious words they said, But the only real brethren I’d ever known, Lightnin Bug Nesbit was dead. That mornin we’d buried him next to the river; some saints from the Sali came down. We opened up a bottle of 19 percent and toasted all around: “In the name of the Father and the son of a Spitz that lies beneath this ground, Swing low fo’ Lightnin Bug Nesbit, the Rodeo Clown.” You’d never know it to look at him now, but he was voted least likely to fail. Take my word, man, he once had the world and a Brahma Bull by the tail. He could make the most callous cowboy laugh ‘till the tears streamed down. Lightnin Bug Nesbit, the Rodeo Clown…
Lightnin Bug Nesbit, the RO! RO! … deo Clown.
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