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 dust blown 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:


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


Next thing, cozy, drowsy,

we hear semi’s thumping by

The radio clock reads 12:36 p.m.

We sit on the edge of the bed,

naked and soaked with love,

waiting for the sheriff to come