That's Up to You
You stare at sagebrush long enough
and you're back in Crayon time...
popcorn and a Cisco Kid matinee movie.
Sunlight snaps barb wire back and forth.
You can mistake the sound for twang-guitar.
Not a trace of a ghost in the sky.
Your knife needs new duct tape on the handle.
Two motels ago a battered-to-a-slouch
maid brought you thin church raffle towels.
Back in beans 'n' bacon school, fists and laughter,
good scars to carry, a moist-lipped girl
--cat-clawed thorny sweater-- to fall in love with.
Up north on this dirt road, a long-empty house,
a burn barrel stuffed with off-brand beer cans,
a splintered-boards corral high with dry weeds.
You stare at sagebrush, talk to it long enough,
and the next busty bank teller will appear
tastier than a huge kettle of hot buffalo stew.