You got to be Cowboy to pony
through today, spurs
to bank book, straight-up in
enterprise’s saddle, to negotiate
tumbleweed Starbucks,
morning’s first cigarette
like abrasive prairie
dust howling down your throat—
you got to be Cowboy, on I 75,
pinched by the herd
(slow-motion stampede into
thunderhead-defined city),
fording market river, lassoing
driftwood profit, thalwag man
of the world, tipping your VISA
Gold hat to each passing merger—
you got to be Cowboy to survive
snow love winters in deep hope foothills,
desperate, camped under frozen
touch forests, living for moments
of tenderness and promises, before
storms of lingering withdrawal—
you got to be Cowboy, forever
stretched toward horizon, to gallop
upward from each training course,
degree in holster, schemes in saddlebag—
straight-shooter of the greenback sage.
2 comments:
EXcellent metaphor.
"...On the Web, the bloggers come and go
Speaking of Michaelangelo.
Dare I blog a speech? ..."
Must have been thinking of the old Dallas series :)
...I think I hear the greenbacks sing,
but will they sing for me? :)))
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