Colt hasn’t been to the sea. He hasn’t been
To the city, not really. He knows nothing
Of sidewalk cafés. He knows a little of mountains,
But not much. He’s heard a lot about California
And New York, they’re vague concepts with
Vague allure. He knows a computer chip on the
Engine block sends a signal to the dash which tells him
When the oil pressure is low. He knows that chip
Was made somewhere else, by someone clever.
On the gun rack behind his head in his truck he has
Two lariats, a set of spurs, a clean shirt for the rodeo.
Behind the seat, a second pair of boots. In the back
He’s thrown his riggin’ gear. He is on his way to a rodeo
To ride bulls. It seems like a strange thing to be doing.