Sometimes I Dream of Acapulco
 
Learned to smoke when I was fifteen and curl my brim just so
ridin' with the boys to town, we put on quite a show.
 
Bull I rode broke my leg on a single wild throw.
After mending up I went to work for cowboy dough.
 
Makin' a hand was tough, and the boss he let me go.
Drifted across Kansas, had some years when pay was slow.
 
Nearly froze one winter working cows, where them Northers blow.
At thirty five I was sweeping floors for my keep, in Idaho.
 
Married up in Kansas City and named my first kid Beau.
Christmas day, when I was forty eight, I flew off like a Crow.
 
Drifting with the wind, I stopped in New Mexico.
Now seventy-two in Temecula, still curl my hat brim so.
 
Work part time at a souvenir shop, to sell the curio.
Sometimes when things are slow, I dream of Acapulco.
©Steve Dirksen