He wore a black ten-gallon hat
and snakeskin boots. Levi’s
so tight they painted his legs blue.
I never saw a gun, but he said
in Texas, he wore a Saturday
night special in a holster on his hip.
All of my friends did, he said.
Murderers got six years
and victims got death.
He said he went to high school
in Lubbock with Waylon
Jennings and drove George
Jones home from the bars
when he was too drunk
to drive himself. But he said
a lot of things like I do
and Till death do us part
with a mistress on the side,
sexy as a sirloin sandwich
on rye with sweet pickles,
mayo, and mustard.
After his wedding to Wife No. 3,
days before our divorce was final,
I figured everything was a lie,
until I found the photo album
with pictures of him drinking
whisky with Waylon and George.
Sharon Waller Knutson is a retired journalist and a widely published poet who lives in a wildlife habitat in Arizona. She has published ten poetry books including: What the Clairvoyant Doesn’t Say (Kelsay Books 2021,) Survivors, Saints, and Sinners (Cyberwit 2022), and The Vultures are Circling (Cyberwit 2023.) Her poems have appeared most recently in ONE ART, Black Coffee Review, Verse-Virtual, and Your Daily Poem.
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