Pickup Parade

My Uncle Wayne, one of the old-time cowboys, just passed away on November 8th. He had asked me some years ago to officiate at his funeral. The service was at the cemetary, but they had a public viewing of the body and then a procession to the cemetary.

His family had placed his favorite saddle at the head of his coffin, and had decorated it with chaps and a flower arrangement through which his belt with his name on it was woven.

I was impressed by the fact that the procession was made up of mostly pickup trucks (there were no low-riders, only cowboy rigs), so a couple of days later I wrote the following poem to commemorate the event:

The Pickup Parade

An old cowboy has just passed away
We had his funeral the other day
They had him all groomed and neatly dressed
His hat in hand, you might have guessed.

His favorite saddle was all dressed up
With chaps, flowers, belts and such
It stood at the ready, right near his head,
While he in his coffin just quietly laid.

His family was there, and plenty of friends,
Little by little they all sauntered in.
They stood by his coffin and said their goodbyes
While wonderful memories brought tears to their eyes.

Then six strapping young men took hold of his bier,
And carried him gently to the funeral car.
They lifted the coffin and slid it inside
And made preparations for his last earthly ride.

The limo pulled out from its place in the shade
And began what became a pickup parade.
There were Chevys and Fords and Dodges, you know.
There were dualies and highboys, but nothing too low.

Some carried cowboys, riggings and bales
Right down the main drag, and over the rails
Out to the cemetery with serious thought
Where they circled the pickups near the burying plot.

Kind words were spoken, some funny, all true
Some beautiful songs and a poem or two.
But, with the tears and the laughter this one point was made,
When an old cowboy dies, there’ll be a pickup parade.