The parking valets in Portland
are dressed as vaqueros.
Black shirts, vests and sombreros.
They hit their hat brims
sliding behind the wheels
of the cars they park.
In the rain, they sag
and drip tears of black dye.
In the rare sun,
they make them sweat
and break out.
It’s tough
being a cowboy
in Portland.

Raud Kennedy

If you've any comment on this poem, Raud Kennedy would be pleased to hear from you.