Leather Tough Genes   sitting in a café across from her old man looking as though she had spent a hundred years upon the land a face wrinkled and leather tough, but she didn't mind eating without the use of teeth not messy but sort of refined   I thought of pioneer women who worked the scratchy range Living with no illusions about how they would change Just digging in to what it was she had to do today Remembering those who died as she rode along the way   Getting up to pay the bill her stature was small but straight her eyes were those of a hunter who'd put food on many a plate a picture today of someone who had carved life out long ago maybe riding along on roundups hefting dogies that she'd throw   outside she lit a smoke like perhaps her father'd done just at sunset everyday before the supper iron was rung I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched her puff the smoke using leather tough genes that let her not even cough or choke   Her and the old man walked away from the café where I sat Thinking how life gives out passes like the nine lives of a cat The trick is crossing that highway so you don't hit the truck Although she may not need it, keep your rabbits foot for luck

©Steve Dirksen