HOW THE BOYS ALWAYS WIN
Cowboy hats and red bandanas. The
heave of a rope and the click of a heel.
One horse, every horse - they all
know the meaning of a spur. When
the prairie sun goes down, there's no
going back. Edges of steel and hard
whiskey commingle in eyes born of
oats, corn, and wheat. From which,
it is said, one always separates the
chaff
-
Someone just told me where I am.
I told them, back, where I might
be heading. That's how the boys
always win : leave nothing
without a response.
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