A Cowboy in Spring

(Love in a Pick-up Truck)

by Beverly Koepplin

Come on, cowboy, come on down from that line cabin,

ride your trusty old Ford steed into town,

pick up a new Stetson, soft fawn suede, at the mercantile,

and grab a shirt off the rack, pearl buttons shining in the sun.

Dust off your jeans and polish your boots to newness,

saunter over to the saloon and breathe in your freedom,

free from winter snows, cold days and colder nights,

bawling cows, stiff joints, and solitary hours without end.

Grab yourself a stool and order that first draft of beer,

swirl it in around in your mouth, swallow the nectar.

Ah, for a couple of bucks, paradise is found at the beat-up bar,

and the future suddenly looks like spring and summer and love.

Come on, cowboy, I am waiting down at the end of the bar,

waiting for you to thaw out, waiting for you to find your feet,

waiting for you to unwind from off that stool and walk my way,

waiting for a glance that catches me and holds me tight.

Come on, cowboy, I want to try on your new hat,

dance a two-step with you as Elvis croons from inside the jukebox,

wink up at you to say “Hi, cowboy.  It’s been a while.”,

feel the stiffness in your shirt, smell beer and leather and the springtime.

Come on, cowboy, swing me around and dance me out the door.

One last twirl, then a quick murmur to “wait right there, darling”,

you go to get your pick up and drive it right up on the sidewalk,

and you say “Come on in, sweetheart.  It’s a good day for love in a pick up.”

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