She was brought up on BBQ and buckwheat.
her aim always a little off,
her rifle exploded glass bottles—
shards raining down on the dry red dirt,
splintering the earth.

She collected wishes in a jar,
the way some collect pennies.
The only horse she could ride was a carousel
but she moseyed with the best of them.

On Tuesdays she broke hearts, eyelash flutter—
She always liked his swagger,
one eye on the door, the other on his lies.

Men, she thought, should be like toilet paper.
Disposable.

She could mosey with the best, her eyes full of tears.