Welcome to Cabra
By Don Rouse
Cabra Springs, on the Conchas Ranch
Welcome to Cabra
If it’s spost to make water
It probably won’t
If it’s spost to hold water
It probably don’t
You can’t hardly pray it out of the sky
We have one season
It’s dry
Cause Cabra’s where
Rain clouds go to die
I’ve swore, I’ve cussed
I’ve thrown fits of rage
Wantin to pour sumpthin sides dust
Out of a gauge
It’s just this place’s fate
I’ve seen storms turned
By a Powder River gate
You can give it your blood
You can give it your labors
You want to see mud
You can jig to the neighbor’s
We watch the clouds buildin
We think it’ll end
They get rain
We get wind
The mills, they rattle and creak
S’a wonder they don’t kill cattle
The stuff they puke out
Would make anything leak
It’s venom
That’s in ‘em
It’s acidic, it corrodes
Cabra’s where water goes
When Hell flushes commodes
You try to be cautious
It still makes you nauseous
The smell makes you gasp
Like you swallowed a rasp
We can’t do without it
I never would doubt it
But this stuff will etch glass
And eat plastic
You won’t go unscathed
If you’ve ever been bathed
You can bet your ass it’s that drastic
There is no protection
From a leprous complexion
And here’s the real kicker
What good’s a shower
If you have to take it
In your damned slicker?