To go to Texas, to wear Stetsons and cowboy boots whenever you want
in the high state of fashion unlike Paris, on runways of dirt paths.
To ride white horses down sandy beaches with a real wrangler,
or on dude ranches like City Slickers on a vacation from hell.
To attend the Houston Livestock Rodeo for a country music concert,
peruse aisles of John Deere tractors. To lasso rope, wrestle steer
or barrel race while sipping frothy beer, all you really have to do
is take a deep breath, and your salivary glands begin gushing
like the Guadalupe River rapids, your mouth watering as you dream
of Galveston, where you can go to Schlitterbahn or Moody Gardens.
To sun with waves as Fabio rides by on a white horse; no, make that
Matthew McConaughey sweeping you off your feet before the hurricane
to come, ride off with a cowboy who will arouse you under a starry sky
where it’s big and bright in the heart of Texas. To wear his Stetson hat.