In the Bunkhouse Over by Bandera

I got off of her by pushin’ up slowly--
Liquid sounds as we slipped apart wetly--
My legs were weak and rubbery as I stood.
Then at the foot of the old iron bed,
I saw her body glistening in the moonlight
As wet as a mare after a summer ride,
Her only movement the slow closing of her legs--
Couldn’t see her breathing, wondered if she was OK.

Turning toward the open window I saw the shadows
Of the big live oak, the old stables and broken coral
Where once the big sorrel stood with nostrils flared
And nervous flickers as I walked his next mare
Beneath his filling lungs and surging heart.
The moon was up big and full and high enough
That I figured it was time we were heading out.
I was reaching for my hat when I heard her laugh.

“Oh,” she said, “Tomorrow I’m gonna be really sore.
In spite of your age, cowboy, you’re still a horse.”
“Well, you’re still a turn-on for me, little darling
But don’t think I would do this every night, ‘cause
For nobody else could I be this long lasting.”
She slowly brought one knee over the other,
Turning on her side, her face was moon-glow
In the filtered ancient light of the curtain’s gauze.

In the dimness, her figure was same as I remembered
Forty years ago as she sat tailored as the rodeo queen,
But knew that if the light were turned on we’d be seeing
The naked reality of being sixty-year-old lovers
Whose many falls and weathering are shown all over.
No, she was never going to change her life—too late
But for those moments we were pleased to be together,
Even though suspecting it might have been our final date.

I hadn’t enjoyed looking in a mirror in decades.
The sun had done a job on my hands, face and neck as
The rest of me remained white as a baby’s butt--
And I still had my curly hair, just less of it.
Raw-boned could still describe my exterior, but
For some reason legs get skinnier while bellies get bigger--
I stopped trying to suck mine in when I was fifty-five.
Nobody else cared about my looks, so why should I?

Nobody except this one here, she just never let go
Of her girlish dreams about us even though
She had been married 35 years with grown children.
She always did the right thing most of her life:
Married the oilman, and raised their young ’ns,
Kept their lives quiet, clean and organized.
While she was at it, she kept her figure trim
And her skin smooth, soft and moisturized.

I never figured that I was more than a nightshade
That appeared in her life like a rider at the gate
Asking for a ranch hand’s meal in return for work
Just often enough to reawaken her romantic dreams
Of chasing off with the boy who had no means
To provide the home and small comforts for a wife.
I provided her only a bit of danger and release
Then blew down the highway like a tumbleweed.

With me, there had never been any future.
Just a lone drifter moving from place to place
Looking for small change and enough adventure
To feed my rodeo stock, my horse and truck.
Can’t blame it all on misfortune or bad luck--
Came close to making my fortune a time or two--
But each time the prize was within my hand
Whatever I was riding always came up lame.

So once in a while, I’d come around—not when expected
She always acted proud to see me, but introspective,
As she wove her husband stories and deceptions,
She would rush herself to me just like she had done
Down on the brushy banks of the Blanco River when
She was springtime nineteen—all pink innocence--
That hot summer night as we swam in the cold clear water
Feeling each other beneath the shimmering surface.

We laced ourselves together on a big rock in the shallows,
Still warm from the white June sun of Texas,
Where we made love—and that’s what it was too--
It was love because it sure as hell wasn’t good sex as
I had no earthly idea what I was supposed to do
To fulfill this unearned and priceless beauty
Without much care, I took her precious virginity,
Leaving her with nothing but my worthless seed.

I didn’t learn nothing about any romantic notions
Until the tall redheaded barrel racer, Texas Ruby,
At the Bexar County Rodeo showed me all the motions
That a gentle man was supposed to use to please a woman
And not roughly mount her like a hobbled filly.
I got pretty proud about that and tried to demonstrate
This newfound knowledge to city girls, plain or pretty,
That would allow a rodeo cowhand to copulate.

Wrangling rodeo stock was as dangerous as bull riding,
But no one cared about the men behind the bunting,
Crushed and gored and stomped anonymously
Without the glamour and cheers--for much less money.
Still I managed to get up enough to buy some sorry land
Over by Bandera where I could feed some stock, and
By the time I got back to Blanco to see her again,
She had already married and gone away to Houston.

I never felt good about using another man’s wife and
She felt guilty as every few years we would knife in
A few hours together--they were all intense moments
Of hurried passionate fucking to turn back time.
For an hour, no longer Momma, she retrieved
The feeling of nineteen’s pure love, strong and naïve.
Every time I saw her face in the darkness beneath me,
It was her reflection in the river stilled by memory.

It’s getting pretty easy to see that nowadays
We’re just kidding ourselves about being the lost loves
Of innocent youth, condemned to separate Hells,
But still I enjoy getting her all worked up and juicy.
Neither of us had much going on that was sexual,
So whenever we were together, I got her to howling
At the moon and, for that minute, I felt like the stallion
That haunts my dream coral’s imagination.

I put my hat on and felt around for her cigarettes.
Lit up two of ‘em like they do in the picture shows.
Not the time for talking or crying over regrets, instead
We smoked and watched each other through the glow
Of smoke that once filled our lungs then drifted away
Carrying tiny parts of us forever entwined in wisps
Clinging to the bunkhouse walls like the ghosts
Of unheard whispers spun by forgotten lovers.

“Think you can go again?” she asked in a whisper.
“Well, I reckon, but you said you were getting sore.”
“Oh, I’ll be sore all day tomorrow for sure,
But I was aiming to be sore for a week or more.”
Her smile was inviting, teasing and naughty
But I felt the familiar stab of age’s uncertainty
Twice in one night had become a distant yearning,
But I wondered if the old poke could be enduring.

I was fixing to go, but all I had on was my Stetson,
So when she slowly slid off the bed and walked on
Her knees to where she could suck me hard again,
I had no mind to stop such determination.
Behind my closed eyes the sorrel stud high-tailed
Around the moon shadow coral just beyond.
His hooves were drumming the three beat rhythm
Of my worn out heart in heat for this little woman.

After she worked me up to my full height,
She looked up at me with big eyes so bright,
It gave me quite a feeling to see her pretty little face
Sucking on my big old ugly dick with such grace.
I hadn’t really wanted to go again that night,
But she just drew me into her warming place
And I determined that it would please my mind
To hear her softly howlin’ one more time.

Eddy Luckenbach