Notes On A Wild West Childhood

In childhood we could rub two sticks together
and fire up our imaginations.

We would build a pyramid of branches,
throw a white sheet over it
and create a wigwam for an injun’
to live in.

Then we could attack him.

I often rode the range,
with a six-shooter in my hand,
killin’ ‘savages’
before they could pierce my heart
with an arrow and depart
with my scalp.

I was a silver-starred sheriff
(starring in a B-movie
being shown at the local fleapit)
ridin’ into town to clean it up
and always doing what was right.

An innocent hero!

I didn’t know us white men
were responsible
for taking away the red man’s lands
and stealing his future.

But I tell you, pardner,
I know that now.
I know it for sure.

Cowboy