Just above the canyon floor I found this old, broken down wild west jail. It made for an interesting photo, especially after I did a little doctoring in Photoshop. I made it into an old west-style photo. I did some research and could find absolutely nothing about it.
So since I don’t have much to write about, I thought I would take this space and print a cowboy poem. It has nothing to do with the photo, other than it is about an outlaw who might have spent time in a jail such as this, if he had not met a violent end. Enjoy.
Little Dick West
Jeff Richards
What made Little Dick West go bad?
He was a homeless waif.
Rolled up his blankets under the stars.
He was a hard working cowboy
when he met Bill Doolin.
Maybe that’s what made him go bad.
Maybe he was uncomfortable in his skin.
He appears porky in his photograph.
barrel chest, fat face,
pig eyes full of cross-eyed anger,
black eyebrows,
that stretched across his forehead,
thick black beard and moustache,
hairy as Sasquatch.
Maybe the ladies lowered their parasols,
the kids crawled under the boardwalk,
and the dogs snarled as he lumbered by.
Maybe he was lonely, angry at the world
or maybe simply unlucky
To run with the Doolin-Dalton Gang,
rob banks and trains until Doolin
was felled with 21 buckshot wounds
to the chest.
In 1898 Dick was currying his horse
on a ranch outside Guthrie,
when three lawmen crept up.
He dropped the curry comb,
flashed twin Colts,
but before he could fire,
he was chiseled full of holes.
Poor Little Dick West, I found out later
wasn’t fat at all.
He was as gangly as a coyote.
Already dead in the photograph,
He was ripe for burial.
(To see a larger version of this photo, just click on the image)
To see more of my work, both in photography and digital painting, please visit my website, www.corkrum.com
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