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And, OK, page 18.

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I have to do this today, because
Lois Shelton very kindly took

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me out to see some cacti and
the vista in the countryside.

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As you can tell from this poem--

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this is my first
visit to the west,

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definitely to the southwest.

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As you can tell
from this poem, I

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know nothing about the
west or the southwest.

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The only thing I know is
based upon John Ford movies,

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and this is a poem about John
Ford, who made a lot of movies

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with John Wayne,
and set in the west.

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Movies like Stagecoach,
and Fort Apache,

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and She Wore a Yellow
Ribbon, and his masterpiece

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The Searchers.

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So this is a poem,
sort of, about that.

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It's called "Vague Consoles."

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"This vista often awarded
John Ford his rest.

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Myself, scenery has
a lack of I emphasis,

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and haven't we killed
all the Indians yet?

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In a stagecoach,
made of sagebrush,

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no doubt, I would gauche out,
like a tumbleweed at a sock

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hop.

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Yo, see it roll over the old
gym floor, lobato basketball,

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then, toed by foetid
teens, fall, slow-mo,

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as though some flair
for the vague consoles.

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Oh, lips refusing
their tongues' rights,

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bodies trying to put
down the peaceful demands

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of their genitalia.

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Everything looks better shot
through John Wayne's hurt.

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The sky, the way it
maps, the desert,

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a lone rider whose moral I
await, the crutches arranging

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themselves for death."

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That's my memory
of western movies.