…you’re not the only ones
who don’t get ‘em all
gathered and branded:
mothers friends, born
and raised together
in trees tangled with brush,
running mates escaping
the Horse Lot in Greasy.
You were there when
they bolted at the sight
of more cowboys
than they’d ever seen—
panicked partners on a whim
hell bent through the fence
for the safety of home
will never know the ropes,
our hot iron or knife,
headache of dehorning
for the fifty pounds
of recuperation. Not worth
it now to anyone.
for Virginia McKee






