Gary Cooper

Here on my horse, man in a western,
Spurring, causing hooves to dig
Into the dust as I make haste to
Get away...from what? I haven't
Robbed a bank. In fact, I am
A placid townsman, dull as
Mashed potatoes, with a job,
A wife, four lovely children.
Are they why I goad the horse?
Are you why? You've disappeared,
And, still, I do not understand your
Reasoning, and still I stand alone
At night beneath the kitchen's heartless
Light when everyone has gone to
Bed to reach again to seize your
Face, to relive when I had the chance
To be with you. The stage is on the
Desert floor, the shotgun guard has
Gone to sleep. The townsman,
Without explanation, rides up,
Winchester in hand, and steals
The cash, and rides away...to
What? That also isn't clear.
You will not have me. I am done
With all the things that I have had.
There's nothing left, but wagon
Tracks across the dusty desert
Floor, and my horse, and its
Useless rider, in a western
Looking for another place to go.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 76 times
Written on 2016-07-22 at 02:37

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