Been thrown three times I can remember. Says the Rodeo Queen 

in her sequined blue bell-bottoms, carmine lips

thundering. Males’re colts, then stallions. Testy ones—geldings. Females it’s

fillies to mares. ‘Course, we were high

When the barn caught fire. With the horses in it. Growin’ up, says the Rodeo Queen—

28 years on the wagon, today—

you either hadta set the table or clear the table. So, 

I'd hide out in the paddock till suppertime. I was a clearer. 

I’d like a companion. Says the Rodeo Queen 

cooing down a dapple gray while he bucks the wind.

A girlfriend and I rode bareback through the Jack in the Box.

Register girl’s jaw dropped when we came to collect. 

But men don’t like strong women. Says the Rodeo Queen 

woah girling the new prize pony till she submits.

To secure our bag, we'd take the horses to the cemetery. Charge people 

10 cents. Where were my parents? 

When you ride it's about voice, hands, seat. All together. Says the Rodeo Queen 

swinging her leg over Chance’s back.

I ever need to get out, I go up to Saratoga. 

It's good for me. To be around other horse people.