be a cowboy and buy me a steak

there was this one woman
I met

a few decades ago

who told me, she said.
come on, be a cowboy
and buy me a steak.

the place was closing down
and the bartender
looked
over at me and shook
his head.

he'd seen her in here
a dozen times
before with other dates.

always with three martinis
and a steak the size
of texas on her plate.

living off the kindness
of strangers.

the bartender gave me
the hand across
the neck sign,
warning me.

I looked at the disappointment
in her face
as I told her the kitchen was
closed,

noticing the grease and gravy
stains on her
rhinestone
denim dress, embroidered
with roses.

can I walk you out to your
horse miss, I told her
as the steam spewed from
her little red ears.

hey, she said, I know a drive
thru we can go to.
come on cowboy. saddle up.
it's not
over yet.