Obsessive, Compulsive Cowboys and the Cowgirls Who Loved Them

Once the stars blinded me and I dreamed in poetry. Now? Now I write to scare off sorrow. 

"What are you sad about, Ronny?"

"Whatta' ya got?"

She's been gone a year- actually, a year and a half. I walk around the block and I remember every walk that we took. Towards the end she wanted to ride in the car. 

This rum ain't working right.