Image Credit: Samantha Scholl
Wild horses couldn’t ride me away
But you carry my heart in your hip pocket
So I, too, follow the circuit
Watch from front-row seats, hand over eyes
Peeking through fingers
As their maned addictive wildness
Drags you through arena dirt
While you chase saddle bronc championship
What’s a gold buckle worth?
‘Everything’, your steel blue gaze replies
Jeans, shirts, spare boots—I pack again
In gear bag—spurs, rope, rosin
Dry my tears so you won’t see
Climb in truck beside you—then
Grin, declare: “we’ll win Finals this year”
You stroke my cheek…”let’s get to rodeoin'”.
© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.
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