Cowboy Cut

a tiny
indiana town 
a summer afternoon
of free
amateurish
professional wrestling
in the sweltering
town square
the cicadas squealing
to back drops
and body slams
a sweet serenade
to the stink
of the soiled
ohio river
just down
the hill

after
an upscale tavern
in this tiny town
a tavern
too classy
for jack daniel's
let alone jim beam
to spoil
the high-born bottles
on its shelves
i sat alone
savoring
a $60 cowboy cut
ribeye
with
the lovely 
young gal
behind the bar
albino
except
for the eyebrows
a charming
nordic looking lass
making me wonder
why freud
painted
what he
painted

with my $10 pint
of fancy shit brew
i wondered
did he have the means
the reputation
the talent
the necessary disposition
to give expression
to such beauty
if he'd wanted to?

an exquisite beauty
but he painted
the real
sometimes grotesque
instead
with this lovely 
expression
of nature's 
aesthetic blessing
behind the bar
a subtle
proclamation
of what might
have been captured
instead

a vision
of sublime
beauty
of pure
corn silk hair
exquisitely
proportioned 
slenderness
and skin
as rich
and pure
and clean
as marshmallows
or fresh cream
from the cow

finishing
the $60 steak
i wondered
with subjects
like her
why did freud paint
what he painted
from utility
necessity
practicality
or is there something
more
to his grotesque
than its austere
lack
of beauty?

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