Jul/Aug 2003 Poetry

Passed times

by Shann Palmer


Passed times

I never met a cowboy I couldn't live without,
their sun-dark bluster and hand-rolled cigarettes.

In Saltillo, Daniel tried to change my mind
with cabrito al pastor and eloquent guitar.

I pined for Monterrey, white-coated waiters
and elegant hotels in view of Saddle Mountain.

It's not so difficult to leave rough surroundings
for finer things; ice in my drink, soft white towels.

He offered brown sugar treats and blankets,
gave me all the time in the world to decide.

Does he have a sweet-faced wife now, children?
I peel an orange at my desk, climbing Chipinche.


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