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Charlene's the real deal.  Her hair is long
And brown.  It's flecked with gray beneath
That broad-brimmed hat she wears.  Her ass
Is flat in jeans which flare to fit her snake-
Skinned boots.  She calls me "Slick"
Because I'm not from here.  I grew up
In the city, soaking up those commie views
Which aren't appreciated by the cowboys
And their bouffant wives at work on strips
Burned perfectly and served to them at tables
Close to ours inside the Saddle Club.
There's an arena down below, and, in it,
We've seen barrel races, roping, bulls,
And bucking broncos.  Charlene shakes
Her head at me.  "I've never seen a fish
So far from its own pond as you are, Slick,
But thanks for coming, anyway."  When
Dinner's over, she will drive me back
To my motel.  I'll get a kiss.  That's all,
And then she'll leave.  Too many eyes
Might see, too many mouths might murmur
If she came inside with me.  We'll have
To wait to do our catching up next time
She has a reason to come to the city.  When
She does, she'll share my home.

© Lawrence Beck 2023