Everything dust but his cool words
in the diner, that just-different drawl
that marked him as from not-around-here.
A tall drink of water, hair dark beneath hat
and if his frame was rail-lean yet the sinew
was tough and railroad work demanded
muscle. He talked to you (he loved to talk),
charm reinforced by the monotonous
backdrop: bleached-dry tumbleweed
ranchland, scraggled ranks of prickly pear.
Your courting not about picture shows,
fast cars, stolen touches; only coffee
and maybe pie, sweet talk and dreams
of a lush green future, anywhere else.
Inspired by this dVerse Poets Pub prompt, writing about family history.