Tony Lamas

If you are going to live in the West, it seems fitting that you
own at least one pair of sturdy cowboy boots
a wardrobe necessity for all Texans, like bulky coats
for those who live on the East Coast.

At the outlet there are shelves and shelves of boots.
Some shorter, some taller, some pointy-toed, some not.

I squeeze my high arches into the narrow foot bed
with its pointed toe and rich, stiff brown leather
lined with white embroidery.

I am officially initiated into the wild, wild, West
the smell of rawhide leather
and the tight squeeze on my calves
reminds me that I need to break these boots in.
The same way that I needed to be broken in.