Western (Poetry)

It is the same scene filmed over
interchangeable in its gritty
dust-cloud intensity.

The cattle roundup loud with
thundering hooves and the deep-chest
cow-moans strenuously protesting.

More monochrome than colour
the air full of their churned
earth particles and goading.

The herd move like one beast
rippling over the wild west plain
men like flies bothering at their heels.

The sun uncaring scorching all it finds
the hills receding — faint under the glare.
All is heat and haze
                                a day’s hard ride
                                                                into the sunset.