When I was a child
I didn’t share the same dream
of being a cowboy
that my friends did.
Which makes it surprising that lately,
I wake up each morning
and don chaps
The teenage heart is a wild mustang
racing along the soft earth
pushing itself to the limit
willing to jump the canyon.
Because it can.
Last week at a grocery store
the guy giving away free wine samples
offered her one.
He shot himself in the head
when she told him her age.
When we go out together
I shoot fire from my eyes
at men who can’t help but look.
She just got her driver’s license
for fuck’s sake.
And now there’s a boy.
A year older.
“We’re just friends.” she says.
“You have to learn to trust me.”
“Oh, I do.” I say
as I bang my hat against dusty jeans
dancing slow circles around her
lasso ready to fly.
When I was a child surrounded by cowboys,
I always rooted for the Indians.
But now I’m buying a gun
She has a younger sister.
This is the eighth poem of my personal 30-day poetry challenge to break away from the machine to think about things that don’t matter. I have no idea what I’m doing. – Jim