The urban cowboy swaggered in <br />sporting jeans and boots <br />and a quarter cigar. <br />Tipping his Sears-bought Stetson <br />he leaned his hulk against the counter. <br /> <br />“Say Jeff, old buddy. <br />You think you might know how <br />to fix this generator up? <br />I need it back by next Friday.” <br /> <br />Jeff held his professional cool <br />knowing even a boorish customer <br />is first and always “the customer” <br />and restored the part as asked. <br /> <br />Autumn had turned the maples bright <br />when Jeff jumped then cringed <br />on hearing the pickup door slam. <br />“Oh God, here comes the Stetsoned legend. <br />What a way to wreck a Monday.” <br /> <br />The cowboy walked up empty handed <br />and paused before he spoke. <br />“Say Jeff, me and some buddies <br />are fixing to go huntin’ next weekend. <br />Sure like to have you join us.” <br /> <br />Jeff’s tower of disdain <br />collapsed like a castle of cards. <br />He declined with sincerest thanks <br />and for the first day in all life <br />regretted he’d never taken up hunting. <br /> <br /><I>September, 2008</I><br /><br />Robert Charles Howard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jeff-s-generator-shop/
