WEBVTT

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Here's one.

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I went to see how the West was
won, at the sunshine theater.

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Five years, old deep in a
plush seat, lights turned off,

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bright screen lit up
with MGM roaring lion.

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In front of me, a
drunk Indian rose.

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Cursed in his native
tongue the Western violins,

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and hurled his bag bottle of
wine at the rocket roaring

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to the moon.

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His dark, ragged body, as
if reading destruction,

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convulsed with angry
gestures at the screen.

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And then ushers escorted
him up the aisle.

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And as he staggered past me,
I heard his grieving sobs.

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Red wine streaked, blue
sky, and takeoff smoke

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sizzled in cowboys' campfires.

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Dripped down barbed wire
tripped brave, daring scouts who

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galloped off into Mesa buttes
to speak peace with Apaches.

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Horses slogged across prairies
lush with wine streams.

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And when the movie
was over, I squinted

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at the bright, sunny
street outside,

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looking for the main character.

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