ride a little pony into town
ride a little pony-
oops-
you fell down

No longer two but twenty-two,
no longer atop my grandpa’s knees but straddling a tight rope,
no longer slipping between his legs-

(What kind of a pony splits in half? A fake one,
not a real one…)

No more upheld by leathery hands,
the sort of reigns that hold onto you
instead of being held by
you

ride a little pony into town
ride a little pony- oops-
you

would think I’d at least try surfer style-
I’d stand on the fine line rope.
Nope. I sit, simply straddling it
as though, “Make sure you floss between your
cheeks,” is the kind of things that grown ups say.

ride a little pony into town
ride a little pony-
oops-

I may as well have a stick up my butt;
at least doctors give shots that way.
This ride of mine is nothing but
a pain.

The surfer dudes in their balancing act
dip only their toes into either crevasse
as they walk along the line.

(no longer only two, but-
‘ping through his legs upheld, but-)

I ride,
my whole torso falling from side to side.

Is my butt my foundation, or is that my feet?
(Do I sit or stand more frequently?
And what about when I lie asleep?

Oh right, I’m a cowgirl.
My cheeks, my cheeks-)

So no, I don’t fall off the rope;
Like a cowboy whose stirrups stick him to the saddle,
my butt cheeks hold me in my straddle.
I lean to the left as the line digs in my right cheek, and each foot-
No, the whole of each leg-
stays fully on its side of the divide.

In neither camp do I abide.
(I’m a lone ranger, guys!
One of the millions!)

Now, what kind of cowgirl splits in half?
A fake one?
One would never…

But how was I to know that I
was one coherent whole, when

ride a little pony into town
ride a little pony

Try as I might and strive to plunge,
my cheeks-
Both the rebel and the law abiding one-
just cling on all the more.

I stay campless, only upside down.
No big deal- just the opposite
of how I ought to be.

(Ever want to be a stallion galloping off free?)

ride a little pony

closer to me.
Stroke my braids to touch my hands;
I’ll grasp your fingers, holding them
for twenty-seven seconds

into town
ride a little pony

(wanted to be a stallion gallop-)
Probe my mane to clutch my hooves;
(is my butt, my feet, or my back the foundation?)
I’ll grasp your fingers holding you
(what kind of a pony?)
for twenty-seven-

oops-
you fell down