Hobby Horse Dreams By Mark Tulin

Crow On The Wire

In my mind,
I’m still a little cowboy
sitting on a wooden
hobby horse
on my parents’ shag
carpet.
I could barely walk upright
and only knew a few words
like mommy, daddy and
ice-cream on good days.
I wore a ten-gallon hat,
slipped into a pair of Tony Lamas,
and pulled up my Wrangler jeans.
I rode the dusty canyon path
and played my guitar,
heated up weenies on an open
fire.
I rocked my wooden
hobby horse
under a Montana full moon,
down the dusty roads,
up the rocky inclines
chasing cattle rustlers
and men on
Most Wanted posters.
I could ride forever in my mind,
I could lasso up all the 
calves and steers I could find.
I could capture all the bad guys, 
put them behind bars 
and still, be ready for dinnertime.
This poem first published in the Scarlet Leaf Review in the March/April 2019…

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