After Blue Mustang, Luis Jiménez

And how I used to have nightmares
that you would come alive, all thirty two feet,
all nine thousand pounds on your back hooves,
your glowing red eyes. And how I cried when someone
wrote on your hooves in orange spray paint,
even though no one could tell what the letters
said. My mom cackled when her five year old
daughter first referred to you as Blucifer. And I’ve grown
to find your LED flood light eyes comforting,
a tribute to your sculptor’s father. You’re supposed
to be spirit of the wild west, but I see you as
a good luck charm. Like the blue poker chip I keep
on my backpack, a constant reminder of you. When I fly
out of Denver, I go early to see you. When I fly out of Miami
I look up pictures of you. I wonder if you know
you’re made of fiberglass. I might buy a tiny version
of you to keep on my desk, and call it Blucifer
Junior, or maybe BluJu for short. Do you mind
being called that? Do you get lonely? I could build
a house next to you if you wanted. You’re only a year
and sixteen days younger than I am. Denver thinks
you’re worth 650 thousand dollars and a nightmare
or two, but I think you’re all the childhood I’ve ever had.

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Bella Rotker is a sophomore at the Interlochen Arts Academy. She was born in Venezuela and loves petting bunnies, pressing flowers, and staring wistfully at bodies of water. @bellarotker on twitter/ig