Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.
Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.
Walt slid down off the bar stool. Could he make it to his horse? Old Joe would take him from Jim’s Bar and keep him on his course.
But now Joe seemed a little off. Was it terror in his eyes? Or was he just a might confused? He was in for a surprise.
It was dark around the corner, hardly visible to view. Something moved and stepped on out. Walt’s eyes got wide and grew.
A tiny man dressed all in green. A vision one would seize. His fitted coat came to his waist. His pants just to his knees.
His shoes were pointed at the toes, his socks stretched to the top. His face was worn and gnarled beneath a frizzy, red-haired mop.
Above it sat a derby hat. His teeth clenched on a pipe. He smelled of Guinness liquor. Every breath was whiskey ripe.
The little guy then spoke right up. “O’Shamus is my name. I come from Ireland far away. I hold a bit of fame.”
“Some call me by O’Shamus. Most call me Leprechaun. And I can read your thoughts right now. You’d prob’ly like me gone.”
O’Shamus walked toward old Joe. That horse blew out a snort. He pulled straight back, and off he flew like old hairs off a wart.
O’Shamus said, “I’m sorry Walt. Looks like your horse is gone. Let’s go back in and have a drink. He won’t be back till dawn.”
Now the leprechaun was full of fun. He showed what he did best. He found some guys to sing along, got drinks for all the rest.
His fav’rite song was “Danny Boy.” He sang with all his heart. Then ended up with “Galway Bay” and said, “It’s time we part.”
Walt liked the little leprechaun and wished that he would stay. But the leprechaun had disappeared, left Walt the bill to pay.
The bar-keep said “You’ve got no dough? I’ll take your horse and saddle.” Walt cried, “That leprechaun has left me nothin’ left to straddle.”
Walt was standin’ in the dark and he was wonderin’ what to do. He saw old Joe come trottin’ in about as good as new.
He settled with the bar-keep, and he kept his good horse Joe, but lost his saddle and his boots. He’d never felt so low.
Now if you spy a leprechaun who offers you a drink, just turn around and walk away. That leprechaun’s a fink.