do as the Romans do. Isn’t that how it goes? So let’s fast. We’ve got plenty of food at home. There’ll be plenty more when I’m through. I shaped myself myself; took my face in my hands and pulled. Pried open my mouth, wiggled my tongue, saw how far my lips could stretch. I would’ve made a great rodeo clown. An even better buckin’ bronc. I can’t stand the rope they use to make those ponies dance, but the thrill of the reign in your hand and air beneath your ass is one you just can’t beat. Almost did barrel racing. Could’ve been a buckle bunny. Still dream of inheriting my aunt’s farm, the one she sold along with the horses to eat. Take that whatever way you want. We’re in the Wild West, it’s rough out here. There’s a great big campfire and a tin of beans. Careful not to strike your teeth. Don’t let the fire getcha. If you do get singed just brush it off, but if you let a spark catch grass you’ll go along with it. There’s twelve steps to the loft and a shotgun hanging beneath it. There’s two pigs who will never see the sky without being held up, and there’s the poem us cowboys will never read about the pig being gifted the stars. Here, we trace their wet snouts, wonder what they think about, get our hands smacked away for messin’ with the stock. Here we double over laughing at the rooster chasing big brother through the yard, the little slits on his heels, refused a bandaid and infection both. Dirt’s good for ya. Little dirt in the mouth or the blood or covering the cut ain’t gonna hurt you none, boy. What’ll hurt is getting caught in the loft, staying out past the sun, treatin’ them animals like they’ll live a long time. Cousin Mitch taught our donkey to ride like a horse. Can’t remember his name now, but he had one. Ears like a bunny, whispery soft, never once tried to buck anyone off. After the boy trained him, I mean. Had a colt that wouldn’t break and an old nag named Ham. White as snow, except his feet, which looked like he’d kicked up mud whether he had or not. Scooped their shit into the barrel and carted it off. Brushed their hide smoother than mine. Never fed them sugar or carrots but let their funny lips snuff up oats when I kept them back from breakfast. I could be a cowboy, sure.
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