The old cowboy could still waltz a woman
across the floor. He dressed in a black hat,
black boots and jeans. The music carried
the two-steppers thru the sloughs and dunes.
They were not a couple. The hard slit of his
eyes rode straight forward without the warm
jingle of a rodeo figure. They never spoke.
There was grit on his face and the thin angle
of a forced smile, that came and went.
When the waltz was over, he dropped her off
at her table. She had to balance upright, on her
own two feet. Old rattlesnake turned his back
and strolled outside for a smoke.
Some things are best left unsaid.
Going home is only a memory, not a maybe.
When I’m gone I want every thing sent to
the thrift store. Rip up all the writing!
Burn up the past in the blast of history.
The music started up again but the old cowboy
had left. She was the one who had the last dance.
She was the one who had held onto his silk shirt,
for the last time.
Copyright © The JR Collection
of Told In Time, ~ Set For A New Record