Cowboy Poetry: My Partner


See that ranahan sittin’ over there
Cheerful as hell without a care?
Last night in a red-hot poker game
We were playing it close, but he looked the same
He bluffed out my three-of-a-kind with the pair
And yet he calls himself my Partner.

I loan him ten bucks and he goes to town
Gets all steamed up and makes the rounds
Next morning he’ll still be drunk as sin
He’ll be laying round and I’ll drag him in
He’ll wake up big-headed and curse me down
And yet he calls himself my Partner.

Sometimes we get to trading gear
He’ll try to skunk me or pretty near
He’d steal my gal if he got a chance
If it ain’t my hat, he’s wearing my pants
If I leave it around, he’ll drink my beer
And yet he calls himself my Partner.

I cook and scrub and sweep the floor
He’ll look to the horses and nothing more
He’s not hard to find when I get my cheque
Now my car he drove is a total wreck
Yes, sometimes patience is quite a chore
But — he and I are Partners.

“My Partner” was excerpted from The Silent
Partner (& Other Cowboy Poetry), by Bud
McKague, published in June 1995.