Poker Face
Stetson big as his ego, cowboy
pushes through swinging doors
into the Tumbleweed Saloon.
“Whiskey and cards,” he snarls.
I remember his rough hands
on my bare back, flounce
red lace petticoat, catch
the barkeep’s eye. He winks
slides me a deck, tumbler of rye.
I put drink on rough-hewn
table. Shuffle, shuffle, deal.
Cowboy swigs down Jack,
hugs cards close to vest,
wins rounds only because
I let him. He shifts steel gray
gaze to mine, strokes mangy
mustache tosses in all his chips.
“Call you twenty,” he grunts.
Piano player stops.
Westward winds whisper,
taunting coyote howls.
The cowboy’s lips twitch.
My hand spreads a flush, five
diamond beauties, an ace high
to boot. Loser leers me up,
down. I hold back a smile
as he throws pinpricked
cards on pile and staggers
out into dead dark midnight.
Published in A Year in Ink, Volume 17
Sounds like a poor loser in for a long lonely night on the streets !
Margaret – That’s for sure.
One of my favorite of your “cowboy poems.” Someday you’ll have to do a collection: nature poems; cowboy poems (or revenge poems), and a third in the series…
Judy – Thank you for the encouragement. Please hold me to it!
What fun! Love it. I agree with Judy about doing a collection of cowboy poems.
Indy – I’m so glad you like this one! A collection would be fun. Yahoo!
Yes, please.
We all could use a little more dust ‘n snarls right about now!
Lol!
As always, your poetry delights!
Emily – Thanks for reading. I’m glad you liked it even though it’s different than your nature poetry.