I DO

[JANUSSTUDIO@aol.com]

My mind is a-buz with poetry these days, must be the cold and I'm huddled 
inside. <g>
I think most of us have been in this situation.  I think it was Juliene that 
needed some help with her problems. Thought this one may help her.  Anyway, 
here's one solution. <G>
Jan

I Do

I sat on my rear counting my gear,
dollars spent, on leather quite dear.
There were stacks and stacks of fluffy pads, 
and boots and helmets for every fad.
Could I, should I, would I?

The trailer I paid for month by month,
until only peanut butter went in my mouth.
The big dually, oh what a brute,
and in it I'm poor, but so very cute.
Could I, should I, would I?

I've stacked up the miles, counted them all,
pounded them out, with every footfall.
But, my ride is tired, and wants to retire, 
to the life of champion for all to admire.
Could I, should I, would I?

So now I sit here on my arse,
at the big ol' auction house,
Having searched and touched every prospect,
until I've settled on only one to except.
Could I, should I, would I?

He's not for the show, his knees do not snap,
his croup is not flat or any of that crap.
He could go to the killer, if I don't bid,
I've brought my piggybank without the lid.
Could I, should I, would I?

Finally he's walked in, eyes all a bug.
I want to run down and give him a hug.
He's hairy, and dirty, his mane all a-snarl,
He's looking for a heart he can borrow.
Could I, should I, would I?


I jump up and bid without another thought,
the hammer falls, and I have my first doubt.
Is he limping, coughing, what's that I hear?
I write out the check and think, oh dear.
I could, I would, but should have I?
© Janice Taylor