by Melanie Browne
Your eyes are
lonely like
the Streets
of Laredo,
at high noon,
with 100% humidity
You aren't a
jolly cowboy,
and I ain't a pretty
maiden,
I don't have any
roses for
your coffin,
because I had
to buy a
40 ounce,
your eyes are
the saddest
cowboy lament,
when I look
in them
I see roadkill,
scavenger
birds &
old people
with cataracts
I might dress up
fancy for your
funeral,
I have some
new stilettos,
back seam
stockings,
a handkerchief
made of
white linen
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