Industry standard number two
shaving a head of false hope
and a beard of loneliness; all
because his long term girlfriend
left him for another chap who wears
cowboy chaps ironically.

Mounted rider guys steal
women from the herd all
the time, with shotgun stares
and pistol whip words,
leaving the rest of us
to ride off into despair.

We're the type to shelve,
postpone, put off the duel
until the real reason is known.

We're the type who own
the lame, maimed horse
of the wild west task force.

We’re the type who reside in the saloon, drinking and forgetting and, most probably, hoping.