Cookbook

It was our cowboys betrayed us
sentimental sports, chaw-shucking
round-dancing star-counting so-and-sos
taking “a certain account” and
riffling through the files accuse us
of “cooking the books” where
“cook” means blacken and “book”
means heart. Our Indians, our so-delicate
Bronze Red skins tore us apart
with their kindnesses. Our fancy
gamblers, schoolmarms, miners,
sheep-farmers, rustlers, sheriffs,
town drunks, bounty hunters, tenderfeet,
Eastern dudes, horse traders, barkeeps,
dancing girls, and preacher-men
have left us unmolested. But those
freshfaced men on their einstein
quarterhorses always had our number.
We were caught in the middle of things,
not only our saddles. It’s corrupt
the way simple habits violate a code, but around
this campfire you have to watch what you sing.

*Jerry McGuire has published two books of poems, The Flagpole Dance (Lynx House) and Vulgar Exhibitions (Eastern Washington University). Much of his work is poetry, drama, and experimental fiction done in collaboration with musicians, dancers, and visual artists, and designed for specific performance environments. He teaches Creative Writing, poetics, and film studies at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette.