Busy with Inner Cowboy Boots

One night the music box played all by itself 
without attention, three notes. It had never done that before. 
She knew then it was safe to put on sequins and mascara again, 
perhaps a rhinestone armband. Flashing under strobe lights 
on the dancefloor or alone at home with candles, 
it reminded her of quaint advice: dance as if no one is watching. 
This always made her smile. As if. She knew no one 
was ever watching, everyone so busy with their inner cowboy boots, 
their sexy moves, their shining fairy tales of blue green mermaids 
sinuously floating to the surface, trying to maneuver someone 
into noticing. She would always love these tales of solid promise: 
if you are good, you will be rewarded. In reality, 
unless you did something utterly wrong, nobody paid attention. 
One man told her promises were the main draw, hints of sex, 
for instance, while delivery was optional. True, 
in their years together, he never made her a gourmet sandwich. 
Still, she loved promises. Who wouldn’t? 
She simply no longer relied on them. A small price to pay for living 
with others and their rules and romance. She wasted her time. 
It was delicious. Once in a while, the weather forecast’s promised wind 
was fierce enough to take her breath away. 

BEATE SIGRIDDAUGHTER

Beate Sigriddaughter (www.sigriddaughter.net) lives in Silver City, New Mexico (Land of Enchantment), where she was poet laureate from 2017 to 2019. Her poetry and short prose are widely published in literary magazines. Recent book publications include a poetry collection, Wild Flowers, and a novel, Soleil Madera.