Just a collection of rantings, ravings, thoughts and stories to share with all!

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Ashville, Ohio, United States
Jim, Jimmy, Uncle Jimmy, Big Jim, Jenks, Bass Viking, River, Riverbread, Dad, Papaw, Grandpa --- Just a few of the monikers I answer to from family and friends.......... I pretty much answer to whatever and have never really been too upset by what anybody has called me.

June 4, 2010

Defending the Honor, a poem for my friend Donna Jo by Jim Jenkins

Defending the Honor

I got real mad the other day, when I heard what someone said

about my good friend Donna Jo in the words that I had read.

I thought they said she was now a heifer or had become a big old steer;

as her friend these were words I didn’t like, and didn’t want to hear.

Then somebody else said she’s not a cow, she’ll always be a hog.

I said, how can you talk about my friend like she’s some kind of dog?

You see I was getting very upset and was ready to go to battle;

how could I just stand here and let them called her hogs and cattle?

So preparing for an argument, I was ready, her honor to defend

against the things they were saying and the names they called my friend.

Then all of a sudden someone spoke up in a slow paced southern draw;

and said my friend you misunderstand, Donna grew up in Arkansas.

In Arkansas they call their college team not hogs, but razorbacks;

and take their loyalty serious when they begin to talk some smack.

So, by growing up in Arkansas, the “Hogs” they were her team

and calling her a “Hog” was not as viscious as it might seem.

But when Donna moved south a bit to the grand old state of Texas

It was just like she had punched her “Hog” buddy’s in the solar plexus.

So, they caught their breath from the punch of her moving to the south

and started picking on her by saying things and running off at the mouth.

From far away I didn’t understand where this name-calling had begun;

I didn’t realize the name-calling was other friends who were having fun.

But, in Texas, they are loyal too and also care about where you’re born;

but they’ll be willing to overlook it if she screams out “hook-em horns.”

She must also learn a new gesture with her fingers, holding up her hand;

so she won’t be seen as the enemy of those loyal Longhorn fans.

But in the privacy of her home in a back room hung up on the wall

will be the flag of Arkansas and you’ll see no Texas orange at all.

So I hope the words of this story I’ve written have given you all a laugh

about a place called Texarkana, where the town is split in half.

Where it is fine to call the women names and you can run your mouth

as long as you get it right; hogs are north and steers are south.

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