George Anderson

I Wish I Lived in a Western Film



I wish I lived in a Western film-

but not in one of those sickly sweet

Hollywood spun yarns

where a stranger with a questionable past

rides into town

with a lame name like Matt or Shane or Lance

& who heroically,

and against all odds

guns down the black hatted villain

thereby saving society for the meek & the good.



I wish I lived in a Western film-

but not in one of those nihilistic spaghetti westerns

the sort where children are butchered in cold blood

where you cannot clearly tell the good from the bad

where cowboys with thick moustaches

speak hopelessly out of synch

and who kill & rape & pillage

because they love it

& who sneer and laugh as they slaughter innocent folk.



I wished I lived in a Western film-

but not in one of those self reflexive TV series

where cynicism and circumlocution triumph

where gratuitous violence and profanity

fight buck naked for commercial supremacy

where you can order on-line

celebrity coffee mugs, t-shirts & key rings

or chat or download endless streams of show gossip.



I wish I lived in a Western film-

I’d wear a tweed hat and suave blue jeans

there’d be no need for guns or horses or whores

or saloon brawls or showdowns.


There’d only be me, my partner and our quest for unanimity

and like Browning and Yeats

we’d  inherit fabulous wealth

and we’d settle down onto our ranch

grow non-GM and chemically free crops

and paint & com


co n tem por a ry

lo   vep oet ry.

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