Make Mine A Cowboy
She pushed open the doors,
Of the corner saloon,
Strolled up to the bar,
At the far side of the room.
All the talking had stopped,
As they stood there aghast,
And watched the gyrating hips,
As the cowgirl walked past.
She wore tight blue jeans,
That fit like a glove,
A hat on her head,
Her shirt open above.
She sat at the bar,
With a smile on her face,
A beauty like her,
was rare in this place.
The bartender wiped,
At countertop clean,
'What will you have,?"
He asked this queen.
Someone put in some money,
Fed the jukebox,
The silence was broken,
The place started to rock.
Feet were a tapping,
And hearts beating fast,
Her eyes scanned the men there,
Than stopped at the last...
She turned to the barkeep,
And gave him a smile,
"Make mine a cowboy,
For they suit my style!"


© 2004  Loree (Mason) O’Neil



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