acclimation

you call up your ex wife
in texas
to see why you haven't heard
from your son
who lives in
Los Angeles.
howdy, she says when she
answers the phone.
you say, Howdy?
what's up, she says, with
a discernable twang
in her voice.
she's lived there for
a month now, moving
from the east coast
to Houston.
what's up partner, she
says. I can't reach our
son, I tell her.
what's going on.
His dang phone is plumb
broken, she says.
I can hear her scraping
a spatula across her barbeque
grill.
there are chickens clucking
in the background,
horses.
goats. it sounds like
a pick up
truck grumbling along
the road.
that boy done dropped
his phone into the well
and he's awaiting on a new
one.
are you drinking? I ask her.
you sound different,
funny. is everything okay.
everything is hunky dorey.
but listen, I gots to giddy up
now. I've got a couple of steer
that are trying
to get over
the dang fence and onto
the highway. adios amigo.
that boy will call you when
he gets himself a new phone.
keep your hat on cowboy.