Girl with the black cowboy boots

I ride. Steel bars in my grip. Wind in my face.

She walks bare feet on the wet beach-sand
with her black cowboy boots in her hand.
Her dress clings to her hips in the salty breeze.
With a dead cigarette in her mouth she sighs at the horison.Water encircles her feet, calling her in...

I ride. Nothing in my wallet. Nothing in my heart.

Her footprints behind her wash away.
She looks up to see a man riding by on his gleaming iron.
Heads turn. Children stop playing.
She wants to call but he turns the bend.
And only the roar of his ride echoes through the corridors of her memory.

I have my denims and my leathers.
And space for a girl with black cowboy boots.

She stands on the edge of the cliff
where she climbed when the voices grew too loud
and stares at the end of the sea.
She laughs and empties the bottle of champaign into her mouth
as she realises she has never rode through the streets of Rome
or see the Arc de Trompe on a snowy winters day.

My rumbling horse takes me anywhere. And nowhere.

The empty bottle of champaign tinkle against the black cowboy boots
on the rhythm of the wind
that carried her into the waves
as she wondered what lies at the end of the sea.

I ride. Steel bars in my grip. Wind in my face.

(inspired by the road-movie Thelma & Louise)