Cowboy
He sits there
Only a few feet away,
His alabaster hands
Fiddling with the hem
Of his dilapidated
Trousers.
I stare at him.
He stares back.
I glare at him.
He glares back
With those
Majestic
valley green eyes
Much like a cat’s.
His lips are
Cracked
Parched with the dearth
We have experienced profoundly.
That
Sun faded button up
He wore every day,
And that torn
Ten-gallon hat that I knew most cowboys
Were into.
He was a cowboy,
But a school boy in youth,
Hidden under his stony eyes.
He left the world behind when
His Ma died,
Now burnt
‘Cause no ma was there to tell him what to do.
Now bleary eyed
‘Cause no ma was there to tell him to sleep.
It was him and his horse
Left to the wild
West.
One day
I knew this boy
Sitting across on the other side of the dusty road
Would be that cowboy
That saves
My
Life
In
The
End.
Writeheart