Open Range

On Canasta nights--
after Nannie packed her cards
and loosed her '54 Studebaker
on unfenced county roads--
cows died.

A rancher would call
and drawl directions, assure us
that Nannie was fine
but needed help to get home.

We'd drive Highway 70
to the spray of headlights
that cast the carcass
in stark relief

find Nannie mourning the carrion
steaming by the snout of the grill
while up the hill a light winked off
leaving us there in lows and stares.