A Cowboy in Times Square

A Cowboy in Times Square

Along the sidewalk he strode,
'neath the shade of a well worn Stetson,
past a thicket of women.
They beckoned to him.

As tempting as a clump of August blackberries,
and seemingly as juicy and sweet,
their smooth plump fruit,
hanging swollen in the hot sun.

But he imagined the vines were tougher,
the roots more hardy,
and the thorns even sharper,
than the blackberries he knew from home.

So he kept on walking;
though he had to look back and wonder,
what it would be like,
to pick just one.