When We Walk in Memory Between Fire
and Late Spring Ice
It is best to rebel against one's appeal to others.
The other choice is impossible: limber stone.
Then there are gifts we thought we always wanted
all our lives, like asbestos rainbow-roses cowboy shirts.
Oh to have the luck of a wing-wide golden hawk
locating home in a wafer-thin polished bronze mirror.
Then there was our weekend in the cradle of the West,
Dodge City... continental motel breakfast and off-brand beer.
Someone in the saloon noted that 1950's wallpaper
tends to foreshadow the clouds in our future.
We skipped the Calamity Jane look-alike contest.
The ethical dilemma of Old West boutiques is dreary.
We also passed up the seminar on Doc Holliday's
enduring physicality under most trying circumstances.
I just wanted to gnaw on her as she lowered ragged
cut off jeans... lured, as I was, by her Greek-Irish smirk.
The Western dress-up fad, its entire shabby premise,
with its fake public personas, leads to psychotic episodes.
We did stumble into a ready-made love narrative: this afternoon
I was enthralled by droplets of rain on high desert rock... eternity.