Allow for a boy
on his wide range
who fashions lassos
from stripped ostrich feathers.
Even on his slow mount, the high heat
makes life hard to see.
Noon, and the pheasants
(fat thoughts on the Pampas)
slip up suddenly,
in twos
and threes,
noosed
and so easily.
This poem was featured on the literary blog for Slice magazine during my time as the blog’s Poet-in-Residence.