Outfitted

Young & not quite ready,
undone by moon–tipped aspens,
I married a popcorn salesman.
But, when a cowboy loped past,
I grabbed his mane
& the mountains spilled us together
like sarsaparilla and champagne.

Years it was a gust-blood ride,
on vaulted prairies, thundered mines.
But a slow-crawling drought,
brought bored horseflies, looking for flesh,
    & tormented, we unhitched our reins─

Older, now, I count grey hairs, and I see.
I see I didn’t see
the horsefly
was the trickster in disguise.
In bed at night, God, that old testament,
with his whiskey–stained teeth,
argues I should have stayed married,
just been discreet, kept my horsefly bites to myself.

      Hang-on, now, listen,

that trickster/oarsman,
    madly dressed for death,
    is at the door─

& I’m not quite ready.