cowboy

i haven't seen you around
here lately,
the waitress says, pouring
you a cup of coffee.
where you been honey?
riding the plains, you
tell her, rustling cattle,
roping steer. you
set your cowboy hat down
on the table and rub
your upper lip where
you might grow a mustache.
you're a cowpoke now,
huh? she says, smirking.
you nod, because that's
what cowboys do.
they stare off into
the distance, thinking about
that one poor calf that
couldn't be found,
and is out there being
eaten by coyotes.
you haven't been taking
your meds, have you
pardner, she says,
putting a new bottle
of ketchup onto the table.
you squint out the window
where the sun is rising
over the hills,
where the land
stretches out forever
and a man can ride his
horse in peace
without no medication.