Cowboy at a Bus Stop

I met a cowboy at a bus stop last week.
He had bluebonnets embroidered across the shoulders of his shirt,
a black bedazzled hat, and beautifully rugged boots

 

It was just the two of us hiding from the rain,
so I asked if I could help him find a route

 

He told me no, very certainly
That he was headed downtown to dance,
he did it every week
And it was the only place he knew how to get to
because it was the only place
he knew how to be

 

His jeans had a few finger’s worth of room in the waist
Too big, he told me,
but they fit me perfectly

He said the boots made his feet swell
but he still put them on every Saturday
He’d never stop wearing them,
they’re not as stiff as they used to be

I imagined when it wasn’t sweat-soaked he wore the shirt to sleep
Because, he said, when I take all this off at the end of the day,
I hardly feel like me.