Dedicated to Lloyd William Duncan (1925 - 2002). As a soldier in U.S. Army during WWII, he was stationed in Australia, New Guinea, Layte, Mendora, Luzon, Bataan and Manila.
COWBOYS DON'T CRY
When I was a kid
growin’ up in the West,
most times I wore boots
and my fringed leather vest.
When grade school was out
and summer came ‘round,
most days I’d hang out
on the rodeo ground.
With my ten gallon hat,
this kid looked right smart—
a ten year old cowboy
dressed up for the part.
I remember that year
on the fourth of July—
a cracker popped off
in my face near an eye.
A medic came out.
I remember him well.
He bandaged a face
that was hurtin’ like hell.
It burned like I’d doused it
with Momma’s strong lye;
but the white-coated medic
said, "Cowboys don’t cry!"
So I clenched my teeth;
and stood straight and tall;
‘cuz I was a cowboy
and cowboys don’t bawl.
And from that day on,
I never once cried;
not even when Caleb,
my Granddaddy died.
The World War was ragin’
when I was fifteen;
and I joined the Army
when I turned eighteen.
Mendora, Luzon—
but ran out of luck
when we beached at Battaan.
With a soul that was shell-shocked,
I saw Hell explode
as a beach of God's finest,
the strafing planes mowed.
I dove from the horror
that hailed from the sky,
and I thought of the man that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"
As I saw my buddy's blood
pool on the ground,
from his torn shreds of flesh
I could hear not a sound.
I fear the best part of me
died in that war.
The cocky, tough cowboy
I was, was no more
With eyes that were screaming
and no longer dry,
I scoffed at the man that said,
"Cowboys don't cry!"
The bullet-strafed ground was
stained dirty red;
and was littered with bodies
of buddies now dead..
Satan's mad demons,
I met them that day—
and I saw what Hell looked like.
I learned how to pray.
With fists clenched in fury,
I shook at the sky;
and I cursed the damn fool that said
"Cowboys don't cry!"
Bette Wolf Duncan ©2008