There’s this guy I like. But sliding into his DM’s so did not work. So, once this Covid thing is over, I don’t suspect anything will ensue. But for the last month, since I knew where he lived, and where his parents lived I figured I might just see him passing the highway when I walk. Why I would assume the time I walked would be “The” time makes no sense. But since when does fascination ever have any sanity. And there I was, every day, glancing up at every truck that whizzed on by.
If A Cowboy Picked Up A Handkerchief
Every day I walk, to the highway
where when a truck barrels down the blacktop
I look up hoping it’s him.
Just to wave and give my heart a boost of giddiness.
A touch of wishful thinking.
It’s not like I have a chance.
Since sliding into his DM’s was a complete splat—
A faceplant. A trip made on flat ground.
A wobbly ankle in stiletto heels—
How do you know if he likes you?
If you have to ask, then maybe you should
move along, pardner.
He ain’t gonna tip his hat at you, ma’am,
or pick up that hanky you just had to happen to drop
in front of his horse.
More n’ likely the horse is gonna pick it up
munch on the lace and linen.
Considering he’s a bit of a pie bald bug-eyed crazy cracked in the head
crazy son of a gun of a horse.
Maybe his cowboy is a two-bit crazy too.