Bearded Ballads 14/30: Back in the Saddle

You say
"It cain't be done,"
but I've got a hankering
for the story.

And what's more:
"Don't bring a knife to a gunfight."
and all the rest
of those colorful cowpoke
euphemisms.
I'm my remaining
wits about me
and the moral code
of Gene Autry.

Saddling up, guns a-blazin'
six-shooters shine
like that of what's left
in the rusty sheriff's badge.

My posse revolving 'round
with the click-bang of the cylinders.
The giant on my right
flanked
by the cripple, the whore
the leprous
and the kids.
Ranger, full of danger.
The madman and his talking horse.

But who're we kidding?
The desert heat
has gotten to us all.

Saddling up
before the storm
and kicking up lines
of this dust-choked haboob
rising into the sunset.