first in the new

Slap Leather

If you want to survive,
you’ve got to show your weapon
first. Every Cowboy knows
the boon of outdraw.

Your horse will wait for you—

he’s slow-chewing the grains,
mane loosening dirt into the trough.

You’ve got to keep your gun
slung low in your waistband.

Let the sun catch it.

But only that for fanfare,
no nickel digs oils-shined,
no gloves to keep the sweat away.

If you want to survive,
you’ve got to starve the appetite,
the ache of the newly blind
on the first auburn evening.

If you outlive the lawmen,
and mob roping for a lynch,
you better run to the railheads.

There’s still the cedar bench,
iron bars, lonely judge sick
of silver prospecting—

that one who watched you,
from the Mining Exchange,
dress those brothers in bullets.