i want a cowboy

i want to marry
a cowboy
she says while
sipping
on a martini
at cafe deluxe
with three
bags of new
clothes at
her side
from nordstroms.
she looks off
into the distance,
her eyes narrowing,
as if she can see
montana, or someplace
like that.
the praire dogs,
and tumbleweed.
a cowboy, huh,
i say to her.
so you want to ride
the range,
sleep out under
the stars and eat
beans around
the campfire
with your new
marlboro man?
no, she says,
don't be insane.
i want to marry
the idea of what
a cowboy is.
strong, independent,
unafraid, and
yet appreciative
of a good woman.
a straight shooter.
quit rolling your
eyes, she says,
don't make fun of me,
then smooths on
another slick
coat of cherry red
lipstick onto
her puckered lips.
giddyup i tell her.
i have a good biscuit
and gravy recipe
i could give you.
maybe you could put
it in your saddlebag.