She should have been a left-handed cowboy
But her mother wouldn't hear of it
Although she let the girl cross-dress
without slapping the offending boots, hat
holsters and gun every time
they reached out for approval
Now it's dreams where she has a penis
and cowboy boots that keep the boy alive
He breathes even under the six feet of dirt
shoveled by conformity
She feels him stir as she slips feet into boots
Toes no longer pointed into stirrups
where slant of high heel secured them
Where they'd ride the range, corrals
and cow trails far from patted-down
town roads and city pavement
Here they look up into mini-skirt
sarong or business suit
They fly to foreign countries and attend
formal dinner dances
Yet still squeeze black jeans into a yearning
Not for the rhinestone studded
confetti colored cowboy boot stampede
in Nashville, Melrose Place or Fifth Avenue
But for the Montana boy in her
The boy keeps her grounded in bloodlines
that seep through country soil
Pulls her back to where cowboy boots
hold up spurs and stop saddle chafing
Where they pound dirt into dust
mud into muck and snow into slush
Powerful enough to be declared
a lethal weapon in a Montana court of law
But the boy isn't concerned
He'll always be underage
Child Development
Let's start with what
You are not going to be
When you grow up.
A collector of fine cars.
A person of interest
In international intrigue.
President of Argentina.
The last person to see
Jo-Jo alive. That one person
Who can place hands on an object,
Look inward through the proud exit
Of the eyes, and know the object's
Owner, and that owner's whereabouts.
The last cetologist.
Someone who can fold sunlight.
Someone who accepts silicon-based life forms
As equal to those that are carbon-based.
There are statistical norms
And, like it or not, you are likely
To fall within those lines.
Not a victim of the last dance craze.
Not an army of one.
Not someone whose first marriage is successful.
Not the person behind the counter
Noticed by the casting director
Who originally stopped in just to see
What a real diner
Looks like. Not good
With a second chance.
Oh yes, if you do not settle
Your expectations now,
You will be in for disappointments
By the crate all along the way.
We need to get that straight, first thing,
Or it might be best
That you not grow up at all.
