Cooked

There was this big fire what looked like a mushroom. I was a long way off … ’cause I was. My bidness. But I was heading on back to my sweet cowboy. I know he was there ’cause his leg was brok. I know that that there mushroom landed smack in the middle of town because know where stuff is. Was.

I could feel the heat from a long way off. It was hot enough so that I knew if I went closer, I would fry. I didn’t go no closer. I was up on a bluff a good ways off, just sitting, when my skin started to come off.

I thought I’d gotten something stuck to my finger – a bit of chicken skin from last night’s chow maybe. So I grabbed hold of this little bitty bit of skin and it seemed to be stuck so I pulled hard. I remember, I was looking at the pretty bruises on the sky and so I didn’t know what happened. At first.

Sure it hurt. But I was kinda dead inside anyway. My cowboy – he was good, and handsome and he tret me right. He was my love. He’s gone, and I feel like most of me is gone with him. Judging by the way I feel now – I will be soon.

Where’d you come from anyway? One minute I’m sat watching death where the town was, and the next, I’m watching your face watching my face. Do I know you?

I read this brand new book last month. Came from England. Well hear this – he was the best of cowboys, he was the worst of cowboys. Funny, right? Now he’s a whole heap of nothing-left-over. A whole heap of flat-as-a pancake. A whole big, fat bag of gone.

Yeah, no – easy now. Sit down or I’ll gut you.

It’s okay. This’ll be quick and easy.

Bury me if you like, or leave the dogs some cooked meat – won’t matter none to me where I’m going.