i'm a saddlebacked cowboy, and
she's the cow i could never rope.

i laugh heartily as we
throw back more beer,
the bitter taste
swallowed and swirling.

i loved the aftermath,
loved the way that my
fingers curled around
the chilled bottle.
we had stuck two in the freezer;
they froze, we sit there, thawing.

and i had been laughing all night,
my throat in knots, wishing that
you were here.
wishing i could see
those green eyes again.


i'm a cannon-armed
sharpthrowing knife tosser, but
she's a spinning galeforce target.

i slapped the mahogany table
with my scarred palm, picking
at labels and scabs.
my other three companions
roared as i continued,
contrited, and slurred.
i couldn't walk,
but i sure as hell could
take another shot.

i'm a spitfire truth, and
she's the lie i could never
blow holes in.

and we laughed.
we laughed, and lied.
we laughed and said
that all was well.

(i laughed and said
i needed to throw up.)

12/19/2003

Author's Note: This was Paul's fault. And I think, after almost nine years, it's finally ready for some editing.

Posted on 12/19/2003
Copyright © 2025 Rachelle Howe