The Blasted Blast

By Jack Joseph Smith

Old man Fletcher was eating his summertime supper When the bad news was brought by his brother They were ripped Hell rais'in rogues Running a saw mill and a brass knuckle factory down by the Missouri River- But now the brother's face was spitting laughter- instead of smiling it While old man Fletcher's taste, of meat, potatoes- and a simple glass of corn whiskey Had Fletcher feeling just right too For such a foolish mean tale of woo As it appeared that the badland neighbor man had turned his consistent cows through Fletcher's gate-- According to the brother: Again - they were out there cudd'en on the crimson pasture where Fletcher had water And like a Harry Truman Fletcher knew; that the man would expect to see... Fletcher's firey five and one half foot frame- COMING over the crest to the bottom plain likened to a big Bob Cat It of course had been like that before Out there... in some kind of sun Arguing the doubble darn But this time Fletcher had Fletcher's shotgun And with this Fletcher as a human; IT headed out under arm along the farm To go around like a hound... Away from ITS place precious Atop the stack on the rack From the just antique American house... By way of the gully where shadows wouldn't stretch, as the home was shaken to ghostly record a master's vile- While the brother then cast a dirt cheep smile; at the process of the bitch being ended in a ditch For the brother knew the other had also chosen the gun While the classic had not lied About two crazed men making choices wild through their equal air And now there in the stiff space upon the final accord Where clouds have whole worlds of their own Fletcher sized up his slant on his adversaries back Who wanting his particular devil - Held his gun level:
And as a rattlesnakes hiss Freezes one in deadly silence Fletcher put the man on the awkward balance of life and death With the words on the end of his breath "Don't move" And on our unholy NOW They faced a Western sundown up from the hollow But possibly the man saw on a peripheral shadow That Fletcher was fair With Fletcher's gun of despair Lowered to Fletcher's side on pioneer pride As that man made his move But Fletcher couldn't fool And the man's head was suddenly gone while Fletcher went home to call the police Who's property-right plainsmen law would turn Fletcher loose And so the BLASTED BLAST at the gate Simply sealed the splash of blood in a Heaven or Hell of iron fate: But Fletcher's real worry became... Never again; would he spend sleep (with that kind of tint on a pretty velvet dream gone to deep)

Original Scan

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AI Interpretation

GPT

Fletcher hears that a neighbor has driven cattle through his gate, confronts the man with a shotgun and kills him. He expects the property-right law to release him, but worries about sleep and dreams.

The brother laughs at the dispute and urges Fletcher toward a familiar confrontation. After the gunshot, Fletcher fears the stain on a pretty velvet dream gone to deep. The handwritten Monroe, Ore. and 1973 remain annotations on the physical page, outside the reading copy.

Claude

'Old man Fletcher was eating his summertime supper' when his brother brings 'the bad news' that 'the badland neighbor man / had turned his consistent cows through Fletcher's gate'. Fletcher takes 'Fletcher's shotgun' by 'the gully where shadows wouldn't stretch' while 'the brother then cast a dirt cheep smile', faces a man who 'Held his gun level', says '"Don't move"', and when the man moves, 'the man's head was suddenly gone'. The 'property-right plainsmen law / would turn Fletcher loose', but 'Never again; would he spend sleep'.

Told with the swing of a tall tale, the poem keeps the brother's laughter at the edge of the feud and moves the real verdict from the court to Fletcher's sleep. Offset lines such as 'likened to a big Bob Cat' and the far-set 'while' slow the narrative at its turning points.