Old West

A Poem About a Forgotten Era

Photo by Stephen Hui on Unsplash

They say the Old West is dying
but that’s because they haven’t met
a real American cowboy
who still tells his stories
and recites his old cowboy poems
over campfire
or under starry sky.

If you could feel the strength in his voice
see the innocence in his smile
you would hear him tell tales
of alien visits
on mountaintops
and ancient bullfights against grizzly bears

you might still believe
in another land.

If you could meet him who wears
one Stetson on the ranch
and another when invited for supper
and hear him talk of lost gold
buried in these hills
and Indian cave paintings
from another century

you might find
a little room for mystery
a little love for discipline;

you might wake before dawn
when desert winds still blow chilly
and enjoy a rest
from this weary world of machines

and maybe you, too, could learn
to ride hard onto these hills
past the sagebrush
and juniper trees
and out
into the past.