Bookstore Cowboy

Through the book store, past the magazines,

Then into the coffee shop, I will myself away from all

The print that surrounds me and my mom follows and I sense

That she has to fight the same urge, because she loves words like

Me but we just came for coffee, not our shared pleasure of text.  The

People are sittin’ alone, or with a ma, or a pa, or a friend and most cradle a book,

Or a magazine, or the newspaper and a cup too, and a few just whisper, in library voices

I notice him right from the get-go, the cowboy,

Who is alone, against the wall, his battered classic dark

Felt hat sets low, and the boots are so not new they fit like

Another layer of skin and a heavier, weathered, lined Levi jacket

Encases the solid man, so obviously spiffed up for town, and coffee and

Stores, and others.  His wranglers are crisp clean, his shirt pressed, and calloused hands

Are scrubbed pink, they hold the book he reads too close to his strong face and I am watching

My mother muses, between bites of treat and sucking her straw and

She wants to know exactly what he’s reading. But the title, I can’t see any

More than she can.  I think maybe if I set my eyes just right, and the lights shine

Just so, I might see the title of that book, so I try.  I narrow my eyes, tilt my head and wait but

We're too far, the light's unchanging, the label stubborn and we’ll never know the book's title

We agree, that cowboys read too and I figure it’s a good book, one I’d like too

‘Cause moments later I see him reach into a pocket for what could be a ‘kerchief,

But it’s just a neatly folded Kleenex.  He touches to the tip of his nose and then the corners

Of his eyes too, in a way that says he’s tearin’-up, and cryin’ for the book’s words are just too

Sad, or lonely, but just then, in a flash, I see him workin’ hard to not just laugh loud/outright

Again the cowboy is pattin’ the crisply folded tissue, at just the edges

Of his eyes, by the bridge of his nose, but his expression holds steady, as his

Eyes travel across the page and he stifles another giggle and his straight white

Teeth appear quickly, and his smile is unleashed, emerging,  but only for a moment and

Then sadness rolls over him like a dust storm on the prairie and inevitably he is feelin’ blue

We feel something we're not sure of, but know we won’t forget the cowboy in the bookstore