A train blaring westward but
Having no more lassos to
Throw…no more west to blaze…no
More buffalo or natives
To trample. Only asphalt
its stride—the wild
is gone.
Nonetheless, there are well worn
Boots, buckles with flash and dusty
Hats worn as are red wristbands
By knee high kids that, though
With admiration, lampoon
Another’s toughness; so the
Whistling train squeals its parody,
And the wild-west lives on.

First published in April issue of Black Words on White Paper (2010)