Walking Away

She turns her back

Oil slick fringed mane

Leather draped saddle

Booted hooves refrain.

She smiles at me

Cheshire cat wide

Swaying side to side

Rounded bottom hide.

Not the polkadot girl

The one with sensible shoes

But what’s the name of a fish

Stacked inside of a barrel?

Just something to follow

A little sport of mine

And then grab and harness

A pinch of salt with lime.

That is if I can reach her

They walk faster every day

Tanned leather with supple minds

And a taste for hot sweet rinds.

So all the women come and go

And I am left with an Oreo

A dried up nibble in my hand

While I watch a marching band.

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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