Stratis Havarti - Wild West

Old Indians close to their end
go into the solitary wide open
of buffalo, wolf and prairie dog,
to sit under a river bank willow

to blend with the stream
murmuring in their hearts. Some
wander around aimlessly,
forgetting why they went out,

in the first place, ending up
in a town, standing sentry,
with folded arms, outside
the local haberdashery store,

saying to their wooden selves,
Pinocchio-wise; two roads
diverge in the woods, white
man speaks with forked tongue.

Stratis Havarti

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wild-west-3/