At the Rainbow Cattle Company

No matter who leads tonight, who follows,

I feel his stare as we work the floor.

He swaggers from heel to toe.

Is it his smile?

                      Or his eyes I can’t ignore?

Even the lights wink, catching the pearled

buttons on his black paisley shirt.

The whole room tonight turns

on his crocodile boots, his porn mustache—

Mr. Crew Cut, Mr. High Firm Ass.

The mirrors on the wall show us

what we are and where we’ve been,

Shania singing: the woman in me needs the man

in you. What I give

                              is what he takes—

I move us hard until the music breaks.

_____

He moves us hard until the music breaks.

I turn and almost trip. I fall behind.

He grips my hand,

                             taking me slow

through the Oak Ridge Boys, Patsy Cline.

The tempo shifts from sleep to wake.

I pull away. He stops. He never speaks

but stares me down. Hand on my hip,

he turns left, then right.

                                      I’m the whip

he snaps. I’m the horse he rides.

He’s what I want and what I fear—

in his arms, then not. My shadow glides

around me like a skirt.

                                    In the mirrors

we turn, step, spin. He won’t let go.

How do you flirt—quick-quick, slow-slow?

_____

I’m learning to flirt—quick-quick, slow-slow—

my blood a mix of cheap flat beer.

He smells of wilderness, hot road tar,

Crew pomade. Half horse plough,

half attitude, is he a tease?

                                          I don’t know

his name, where he’s from, can’t hear what

he whispers in my ear.

                                   I’ve no excuse.

His horseshoe buckle shines beyond a doubt.

What’s faith if not what I refuse

to know? Will he be a priest tomorrow,

a florist, a judge? He’s a man now

on a mission with a gun. In the mirrors

we’re here again

                         with everywhere to go

no matter who leads tonight, who follows.