There’s a woman kissing a cowboy
across the street. His eight-year-old son
watches from the bus stop bench.
She’s really planting one on him,
his Stetson in danger.
It must have been some weekend.
Seeing no room in that embrace for himself,
the boy measures his future, legs
straight out in front of him.
Both hands hold on to a suitcase handle,
thin arms ready to prove themselves.