They checked their irons to the smithy,
and for a fortnight forged the seams
of chaste decorum. Tallow took fuse,
callow wed rimfire on an unleavened bedroll
of mustered blues and faded gingham.
Maverick novas opting for the bigger nights
of open prairie. Beyond squib loads. Beyond
no-kick flash pans and powderless ex-lovers.
Beyond fallow plow mule congregations,
yeastless corn dodgers—hardtack apostles.
Their union was a trysting of sidesaddle
halos with unhaltered reflections. Heigh-ho
silvers under neon moons. Raised shot
glasses to loose-wristed barkeeps, hang-fire
reloads and seared saddle sores. A two-step
stampede of glib comancheros mounted
on sure-shot trick ponies—
beholden to nothing but afterglow.
~ ~ ~
Kevin Heaton is from Kansas and Oklahoma. He now lives and writes in South Carolina. His work has appeared in a number of publications including: Raleigh Review, Foundling Review, Beecher’s Magazine, Crannóg, and Mixed Fruit. His fourth chapbook of poetry, Chronicles, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2012 . He is a Pushcart, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets 2013 nominee.