Help - Tune of Our Reapers

By Salvatore Difalco

Organza repairs in the morning,

acid jazz in the afternoon

and when the sun goes down

revolving stools in a cowboy bar

with sawdust and peanut shells

littering the floor and a three-piece

combo playing songs meant

for hound dogs reposing on a porch.

This is where we have arrived.

We took time to sweep the bugs

off our goggles and surprise

ourselves with what we saw.

But nothing compares to a man

dancing solo in cowboy boots,

maybe whirling a lasso

or aiming for a near spittoon.

And then we get starched

when a guy like me forgets

to take notes, and the plot line

barrels off like a tumbleweed.

If you like horses, we’ve put

a few ponies up for sale. They’re

small but they have wheels.

I’m tall but have fallen arches.