Page 11
By Jack Joseph Smith
I do not mix
Cows and steers
in slaughter
And as a history buff
I have counted everyone
Hanged black and white
by the noose
Texas my conception
Bucked by five horses
into the rolling grass
and fenced sawdust
But that is my loss
Go far back to the needle
and print your quilt
It is the way it is
And you never quiet