“why a cowboy?” i asked her.
she pretended she didn’t understand the question,
giving me her
excuse-me-what-language-are-you-speaking?
look, designed and performed to make me feel
the world’s stupidest person.
this time, it didn’t work,
not with her beat-up straw cowboy hat
and the old, scruffy boots sitting next to her bare feet.
she squinted up at me–

i could see the scrunching of her eyes and nose
behind sunglasses;
for a moment
i wanted her to toss me aside,
use my dismissal to underscore how much
cooler she was than i ever would be —

tilting her head slightly.
ash blond curls scattered out from under the hat
in any direction they could manage.
she yanked her mouth to the same downward side,
tenderly biting the inside of her bottom lip.
i sensed in that moment
i mattered too little to her
for this glance to be anything more
than the moment’s pause before
i ceased to exist again.
i did not merit even stupid-person status,
just another guy trying too hard.

“o, that’s right. i forgot. you’re from Texas.
it’s your national costume, and you’re being patriotic.”

i think at that point she really did want to laugh,
but sometimes mere desire is not enough.

Aug 2003/Dec 2009