He Wore A Poncho

Vintage Words


He had no name and did not need one.

His rep was everywhere, his fame

good-driven. The West personified,

dirty, eyes that saw every ant

that crawled. Good. Death feared him

coming to town.


No matter the number, bad guys

never prevailed. No matter the class,

bad after hours followed the standard.

Even his hat was bad. A bullet

was his emblem, like a sanded desert

cowboy yarn, this side of the border,

across the ugly border, no matter.








Author's Notes/Comments: 
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ginsywilde's picture

I really enjoyed this one, my

I really enjoyed this one, my friend. I have a new poem out, too. I hope you read it and PLEASE comment. It's called, Two Hearts. you can read it here: http://www.postpoems.org/authors/ginsywilde/poem/1057494

allets's picture

Good To See You Stranger

I saw all the Clint Eastwood movies as they came out. It was what we did. I've already read you. A blast from the past. :D