Crutch

My heart...

is hostage to a cowgirl ...

with a drinking problem.

Sandy Blonde,

goddess of the prairie.

At night I watch the stars .

and think about her,

try to come up with ways .

to help her kick the poison.

But she's a slave to temptation.

and always picks the wrong choices.

Ironic mirror image of my own vice,

my blind, unconditional love.

orbit around her complicated life.

just to offer assistance .

in lifting the crutch.

It's an unreciprocated gesture.

I'm an invisible man .

shouldering her troubles .

with infinite patience .

and an addiction to her glamour.

I think the world .

of each small acknowledgement .

so subtle.

Rotate the aluminium can of beans. warming in the campfire stove,

holding make believe conversations. with the woman .

as if we were happily betrothed.

My dog growls at a distant sound, clamouring around in the darkness, fumble to load the shotgun shells .

and point the weapon .

in the apparent direction .

of the approaching monster. Surrounded now .

by the hounds of Hecate,

I lay my arms down in the dirt.

Her form materializes before me .

and my internal alarms.

are going berserk.

My heart is hostage .

to a cowgirl with a drinking problem. Sandy blonde, goddess of the prairie.

At night I watch the stars...

and think about her.