rodeo

8 seconds probably seems
like an eternity
to the rope and
the leather gloves
while waiting for the
gate to open…
time creeping by on crutches.
to the lover,
the poet
and his pen,
8 seconds feels immensely insufficient
to even begin to saddle up on
all those feelings,
all those emotions breaking and bucking
trying to tame her memory
trying to shake the pain;
although, at times,
it seems like I’ve been hanging on
for a lifetime.