I gave up Chartreuse and Whiskey
for my part in a movie, a western,
where I sit in an air-conditioned movie theater,
watch a re-envisioned Marshall Matt Dillon
consider a portrait of Miss Kitty above the player piano
as the sound track keeps up a steady pace
of Winchester rifle fire for the blazing six-shooters
in the hands of two transvestite cowpokes
who settle a dispute over the proper shade of red velvet
to trim black silk.
I fail at rolling my own tobacco,
unclear why the script calls for me to light up
at the exact moment a bullet
passes through the left eye of the Miss Kitty painting,
which finally achieves the ire of the Marshall’s attention
for the collateral damage bystanders
dropping all along Main Street.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
