Chicago’s mounted police,
Manure on Michigan Avenue
The scent puts grass under my feet
And a blazing, UV-spectrum tongue
Around my neck
Under a crowded skyscraper scaffold
Forever 21 – Open during construction!
I stand on two yellowing acres.
Texas, via Illinois, via equine sweat
Smell is the most muscular conjurer
City mouse by lineage
Native Texan by default
Yes, soccer; yes, trucks; yes, twangs;
Everything’s Bigger In Texas
By Friday night dashboard light
(But for the love of gawd, y’all,
Obliterate 10-gallon hay-ats
From your gotdayam cultural shorthand.)
I tell ya, I’d rather clean a horse’s shoe,
Risk that 17-hand beast’s
Magnificent hoof treadin’ muh Vans
Than plod behind clip-clopping flip-flops:
Confused city herds
I know suburbanites.
The sublime terror drugging their eyes
Their splurge! Their thrill!
My errand, my life
Move, bitch; get out the way
You’re in my kind o’ town now.
Never thought I’d quote Ludacris in any poem, let alone one about my weird history. In fact, see if you can collect all six disparate pop culture references! (I’m kinda proud.)