Rodeo Queen
  By Susan Schaefer McDevitt

You wouldn’t believe I am a cowgirl. Too old
to be a girl, and I’ve done my time with hungry brown eyes
looking deep into my animal heart and finding that when I look back
it’s only my own reflection I see, and my romance about horses-
with their broad backs and tight cinches, their saddles and reins-
has waned with knowing just how much work they take.

At my age my feet are on the ground and I remind you
of a freshly scrubbed Iowa girl, with peaches-and-cream skin,
who’s dreamed about rodeo, earthy sweat,
and rawhide chaps, dreamed about the one kiss
which would shake my heart from my sleeve,
this heart of mine that can detect bull-shit
at a hundred yards and put out flames with its chilly breath.

I gave myself away with a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover,
and what I have left is a journal of regrets collecting dust.
I’ve become Marion the Librarian watching from the inside out.

But Ladies and Gentlemen, the rodeo’s in town.
My new boots are kicking up sawdust. I’ve bought a ticket
and there’s money burning a hole in my jeans. I’ve got
a new lipsaver in my pocket, change for a cab,
and there is a fresh glint in my own brown eyes.
When you look out tonight, what you’ll see
is just another cowgirl at another rodeo,
but this girl’s about to get lucky at love.