MY RODEO DAYS
The horse had a cantilevered saunter, all running
down into mirth : chickenscratch crosshairs and
compass contagion for all it was worth. And then the
Governor came by to tell me (yet again) how gay he
was. We walked along the Scrounge Canal looking for
pickerel and pike. 'I wasn't born yesterday, you know.'
He said that three times, at least. The whole afternoon
was ruined by his outburst. Bubblegum balloons and
Fels Naptha cocktails; a maidenhair fern had a
maidenhair turn down her blouse. We all ended
up together with the abbess, having tea.
-
I can't make this up : the storybook ending
you delivered was delivered by you, on cue,
overdue too. The high trees made noise in
the wind - things from the mountains,
and deep water from the plains. I never
did tell, and I could never explain.
-
As it was, I wanted to flee, get away,
make my escape in a shrouded cloud
of silence and secret. I'd forgotten
where you lived, but ended up
there anyway. Likely that, too.
My rodeo days were a mess.
No comments:
Post a Comment