first grade interpretation of the Old West

pausing by the pond 7 feet away from the peach trees left there by the chuck wagons of 1881 and the gingham bonnets stain upon the rocks placed there to dry in my western sun the Borox box is empty ma’ as the echoes of blond pigtails before the dawn of braces and Barbie dolls flowers dressed in yellow chipmunks draw a crowd and daddy presses on upon the kneeling giant mountains picking day and night sapping land from its sickled blood doing what men do but today my toothless grin will lend itself to draw a sigh from spirits past 1855 in the cavern of the snake

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