When I feel I’m packing’ a heavy load of luck,
Drive to Blackhawk, Colorado in my ole’ Chevy truck.
Up the mountain road to the Lodge Casino,
Play 3 card poker, Black Jack, Bonus Six, even a little Keno.
There are two women dealers I think the world of,
Oh Hell! In truth have more than grown to love.
They always make me welcome as a pat straight flush,
They kind of get this cowboy tongue tied an’ starting to blush.
Julie and Tammy are the casino dealers of cards,
These two gals – I hold in the highest regards.
They’re so darn purty I always feel like taking’ my hat off to them,
They have sunny smiles that make me think of a shine on gems.
I reckon sitting at their tables – I just become enchanted,
Not paying much mind to the losing cards they just planted.
They almost always drop nothing’ higher than a two-spot,
No aces, face cards or tens, not diddly squat!
Hundred dollars here, hundred dollars there,
Another losing hand, this cowboy does declare.
This old cowboy looks in his wallet to take a peek,
Sure enough, that leather holder has sprung a leak.
More than a few times that this will occur,
Luck raveled out and cleaned down to my spurs.
My cowboy gambling mind starts to ponder an’ starts dwell,
That I had about as much chance as a wax cat in hell.
If you have read this sorry poem, it may appear,
That this cowboy maybe plumb weak north of the ears.
Now I will tell in this tale known only to a few,
Any amount of money is worth sitting at a table with these two.
Even thou I may need a Doc that does skull practice,
I’m always left grinning’ like a jackass eating’ cactus.
Poem by Kurt James
Kurt James © 2017
Kurt James novels available on amazon and other fine book stores.