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.

Yesterday my good friend Johnson called me on the phone. He said, “I’m running
short on cash. Could you spare a little loan?”

My good friend always seemed to be a dollar short or two. So, I’d put some
money in his bank. It’s the least that I could do.

I shaved then grabbed a brush and cleaned the cow dung from my boots. Banks
don’t care for cow manure but I’m cowboy to my roots.

I drove into the city, found the bank’s new parkin’ lot. Then walked into the lobby.
Quickly eyed my six-foot spot.

I said, “I’d like to make a small deposit here today.” She said, “How much?” I
said, “Five hundred green bills, if I may?”

Her answer came so swiftly. I was taken back aghast. She said, “We can’t accept
your cash. A policy since passed.”

A bank that doesn’t take your cash, is that a brand-new fad? I’d never smoked
on dope. Right then I wondered if she had.

I wrinkled up my nose then said, “You can’t take any cash? I asked, “Do you take
bottle caps? I’ve squirreled up a stash.”

She said, “We’ll gladly take a money order from you sir.” But then my head was
spinnin’. All my thoughts were just a blur.

She said, “Are you a member?” Just for once she seemed polite. I joked, “My
bank’s the bunkhouse in a mattress pulled down tight.”

Was this cashier even human, all puffed up and full of pride? She said, “We
cannot help you. Would you kindly step aside.”

So, I walked back to my Chevy truck, sat on my worn-out seat. I swear I felt about
as low as six feet down dead meat.

I called up Western Union. They were glad to take my cash. My good friend got
his money faster than a lightning flash.

Why do our banks refuse to take our hard-earned bills of green? I’m dang sure
disappointed. It’s the darndest thing I’ve seen.

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