Sunday Blues
Cowboy, don’t call me
on the way to church, praying for poetry.
I am not a Sunday girl,
I don’t come dated for expiry.
Move on out to Montana,
like you always said you’d do.
Find yourself a woman you can tame.
Find yourself a woman who won’t leave.
You were always so faithless,
telling me how I’m just too free.
Find yourself a countryside
filled with wild, wild horses.
If you catch yourself a Monday mare,
please name her after me.
Sunset Song
If you ask, I will break the golden rule
I will treat you in ways I would never desire
I will let you dance along on your high wire
It’s not too late to come away with me
I’ve brought my horse to your doorstep
I’ve brought you a pair of ruby boots
It’s not too late to come away with me
A sunset owes its brilliance to dust in the air
I could kiss dust from your shoulders
I could brush dust from your hair
It’s not too late to come away with me
Let’s ask the sky to make the dust beautiful
Let’s forget the dust was ever even there
It’s not too late to come away with me
So come, come away with me
I have conquered a thousand mountains
What are another thousand mountains more?
It’s not too late to come away with me
Piper S. McKeever is a poet, philosophy student at Reed College, and a strong proponent of the American sonnet. You can keep up with her myriad adventures at pipermckeever.com.
High Horse 