The Wild West

Colorado 1998

We no longer talk tumbleweeds.
Dust storms or ghost towns
and shoot-em-downs
at high noon.
Unless we are talking about high-rises that blew
in from the east during these last few decades.
Or the decay of out-trafficked shopping malls
with reinforcing tape on their window fronts.
The wigwams outside the fort, now
white Arab tents of an airport.
While the noon-hour terror has become
driving 60 miles an hour down one-way streets.

We revive the Titanic
and the Molly Brown House on Sundays,
panning the gold from tourist's pockets
It's hard to believe some of these cities
were without trees
until someone dug canals, the traffic
mainly prairie dogs.

One city was given a splendid house
for its mayor with as many corridors
as seen in prairie dog towns
with ninety-odd computers to show the view
in each and every room.

Which is not to say
they don't trust their mayor.
It's just an effort to keep
wide open spaces available.


If you've any comments on her poem, L. Fullington would be pleased to hear from you.