in truckee, population 12.
tired of dating lumberjacks
with dried pancake
syrup in their beards.
and a chaw of tobacco in their craw.
if she never saw another plaid
shirt again, she'd be happy.
so she swiped right on
a used car salesman in reno.
he was tall, she like her men tall,
she liked them smart too.
He earned his law degree at san quentin
after a ten year stretch for
embezzlement and rolling back
odometers.
everything about him smelled like
parole.
but he was in the mensa club
at prison and ran the chess club.
in his lone picture he
was wearing a white hat.
there was another person cropped
out of the photo, a woman it looked
like in high heels and fishnet
stockings. just one leg made the cut.
his cowboy shirt had little roses
embedded in the stitching
and was tied off with a long black bolo tie.
he had on snake skin boots and his
silky pants were held up by a belt
buckle that read in silver, HOWDY.
why not, she thought, loading
her gun after putting on her
makeup and a dab of perfume.
what the hell. he's tall,
he's smart. what could possibly
go wrong. i've met worse.
she grabbed an extra cannister
of pepper spray off the counter,
and headed out.
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