Borax Charlie’s face
took a purple shade,
his whip cracked in the air,
a cascade of sound came from his mouth
not a single word was fair.
Mules were cursed
from the day of the race’s birth,
sent to perdition and back again
the curses flew in a mighty roar
as Charlie fell back to sin.
Big rocks cracked
without desert sun,
every well in town went dry,
whirlwinds took the saloon outhouse
high into the blighted sky.
Storefront paint
was all blistered,
trough water turned to steam,
flocks of sparrows fell to earth
as Charlie shattered the Sky Pilot’s dream.
New curses
he invented,
old ones were put to shame,
he cursed those mules down to their shoes
and he called them all by name.
Mules shook
in their harness,
the bells made a tinkling sound,
the wagons lurched into movement
as giant wheels rolled over ground.