Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
Two Poems by author Keven Heaton
Rebecca
a Sunday school teacher-1958
Kevin Heaton
Timelines tracked her face
like starched Sunday pleats.
She had the weathered-leather
look of a drive-weary trail boss,
and a drover’s payday grin
for a smile. Her rosy cheeks
baked south of truck farm
squint tracks like rouged
mesa knolls in drought; her
sleek iron skillet hair westing
leeward into a corn dodger
biscuit, taunting our pre-
communion fasts with leftover
whiffs of breakfast bacon.
She pressed the same chocolate
print dress each Sabbath,
and held firm to John Brown’s
faith without the spit and vinegar.
I recall following her and Jesus
to Zacchaeus’ house for tea.
Rodeo Jackson Sundown
Kevin Heaton
I am tall, lean, and handsome.
I lash my hand against his glory
stripe the wind.
Spur the blasphemed sire
curse devil horses.
Curl my toe inside his rump
break the spin.
Then fan his nostrils with my hat.
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