PISTOL STAR—

invisible from where
the new westerners gather
forked to deck chairs
at a full standstill
into the next millennium
while propaning tri-tip
a-la-cul-de-sac
upon manicured patios with their millions
of kidney-shaped swimming pools
near which they sip
dry Chardonnays
and shoot their mouths off
about Montana properties
they’ve just gone into escrow on
and their new Isuzu
Rodeos they’ll pull
behind forty-foot motor homes
so they can ride their ranches after the snow
and cold disappears for a week
next July—PISTOL STAR
(invisible, you might recall)
shines 10 million times
brighter than the sunset
old gunfighters never
even talked about
riding into
out of the east, I’ll be
a go-to-hell son-of-a-gun
Amen.

                                    For John Dofflemyer