MY LONESOME COWBOY

6 4 Y M Y L O N E S O M E C O W B O Y A A R O N F A G A N The vulture at the kitchen table has the body of a man Spinning ice around in his tumbler with a swizzle stick, Eyes training on me vacuuming the living room poorly. The only one judging anything here is me. The stained Beak and centuries of death that made it are neutral. Who is the vulture not to say a thing about the ways We betray our instinct to destroy all we love by loving? All these little moments line up and lash themselves To stakes we say will stand in the fire to endure all time. And we would not be wrong to believe it and then not. The cord gets yanked out of the socket, the vulture Skids the chair away from the table, and stands taller Than expected – walking over to me and then away, Leaving a gift in my hand. This may or may not make Sense to you, but I let the flower die so it belongs to me. ...