The day's been as glum as a poet's accountant. <br />A little more adventure wouldn’t go amiss, <br />so I’ll saddle-up my poems <br />and head ‘em all out West... <br /> <br />I’ll be The Lone Rhymer, <br />gunning for maverick metaphors <br />and vigilante verses <br />with silver-bullet six-shooters. <br />(Who was that masked muse?) <br /> <br />Or dressed up all in black atop a palamino, <br />catching Davy Crockett’s hat <br />falling at the Alamo. <br /> <br />Poem, <br />Poem on the range... <br /> <br />Where desperado couplets <br />dressed in ponchos <br />and sombreros <br />pass out on tequilas <br />in El Paso haciendas. <br /> <br />I’ll be Jesse James Joyce <br />with a Stevie Smith and Wesson <br />ambushing the Pony Express <br />for Seamus Heaney First Editions. <br /> <br />I’ll pow-wow with Cochise <br />inside a ring of fire, <br />trading buffalo hides <br />for bows of burning gold <br />and arrows of desire. <br /> <br />Several boys named Sioux <br />will jostle for a view, <br /> <br />Sitting Bull will have to stand <br />to see above the crowd <br /> <br />as I read aloud <br />Custer’s Last Stanza. <br /> <br />Then I’ll scalp Ted Hughes <br />and become the first Poet Lariat.<br /><br />Eddie Gibbons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jesse-james-joyce-2/
