Hoerth - The Bull Rider
The Bull Rider
In Texas towns the tongues of men all taste
the same, like sour whiskey, dust between
the teeth. I think of this as neon lights
flicker above, my elbows on the bar.
A man sits down beside me, smells of sweat
and oil fields. He tucks his hands inside
his pockets, tells his story: he was once
a god on astroturf. I've heard it all
before, another song with steel guitar.
I lean in close and whisper in his ear:
I wanna ride a god right out this town.
He nods his head as though he understands.
I rise up from my stool and walk across
the boot scuffed floor, and mount the metal bull
that only drunken tourists ever try.
My fingers wrapped around the plastic horn,
I wave goodbye to his Aegean eyes,
the smell of smoke gives way to Padre breeze.
I kick my heels off, touch my naked toes
to froth. The metal bull between my legs
turns into flesh; the Coastal Bend recedes.
We ride all night to Crete, and I become
a woman even gods cannot resist.
by Katie Hoerth
Published in Goddess Wears Cowboy Boots (Lamar University Literary Press, 2014)
