GOING TO SEE WHERE SHE WAS BORN

Something about a long blue Oldsmobile

with Kansas City plates

makes a man in a red CO-OP hat

drive his tractor down the middle of the road.

“Go slow,” she tells me. “In Peabody, Kinsley and Offerle,

they still have hanging judges.”

Tumbleweeds chase us like dustblown posses

all the way to Dodge City

where the lock up for licker is nine.

We roll softly through the center of town,

headed for the Silver Spur Lodge,

1510 Wyatt Earp Blvd.

Inside our room a notice taped to the door

tells all us nice folks:

“YOUR DAY ENDS AT 12 O’CLOCK NOON.”

“Tomorrow,” she says, “we’ll go meet mother.”

Next thing, we hear semi’s thumping by.

The travel alarm reads 12:36 PM.

We sit on the edge of the bed,

naked and soaked with love,

waiting for the sheriff to come.

 

 

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