A.J. sees the
oilcloth duster
and bandana hanging
on a hook inside the cloak
room the same ones the outlaw
who robbed the saloon was wearing.
A.J. is witness to a crime too vile to come
clean,

A.J. reaches
inside the oilcloth
duster pocket, pulls
out of the pocket, the
cloven hoof of the wild
boar dangling on a leather thong,
puts the cloven hoof in her slicker pocket,

preacher’s accomplice,
the English teacher, Gretta
walks in. "They’re fools. The
town fools come in here to listen
to your sermons. Praise the Lord!"
she's laughing,
                                             
"The Collar
knows its Calling,
Gretta. Blood of the
lamb collects sin of the whores.
The tills of Satan repay the Lord
this morning," he's dogmatizing,

"I loaded
your revolver
with five beans
in the wheel this
morning, Joshua.
Five cartridges in a
six chamber revolver
left the chamber under
the hammer empty for safety
reasons, so can you at least not
use the Lord’s name in the same
breath as these coins?"

A.J. is crouched
behind the organ. She
hears it all; witness to confession
of a crime too vile to come clean,

"Gretta, some
day Lucifer is going
to scratch his long dirty
fingernails across your blackboard.
And when he does, your soul will go
to hell," he's self-righteous,

"And who’s
going to wipe
your slate clean,
Joshua?"

Wind gust
blows the double
saloon doors open,
a big ol' tumbleweed
blows inside and stops
in front of BLAZE, she takes
leave of her broom, a good-size
bee flies out of the tumbleweed,
"Shh--the psychic tumbleweed is
speaking,"

Madam Antonella
asks, "Who is blowing
into town?"

Blaze predicts
it is Madam Antonella
who is leaving town. Blaze
won’t miss her, "No one's
blowing in, someone's blowing
out,"

"My saloon
needs some
airing out. Mutton
punchers and mail-order
cowboys from back East all
decked out in Western garb,
hardly practical. Big spenders,"

Blaze is curious,
"What's under it, Madam?"
Blaze knows damn well what's
under it, she's fishing,

"Just some
ghost miners
at full chisel and
a crib of spirit whores
who died of French Pox,
syphilis. Mule skinners at
the bottom rest below those.
Their bones preserved in reverent
whiskey not diluted,"

"Let’s ride, Wives.
There are ones who
need us. Pony Girl, do
you know the location of
the bee hives?"

"No, Blaze,
but I know every
hangman’s rope
noose scar on the
tree branches from
here to Durango,"
                                                                  
"Not without
A.J.," Sage ruled,
and Blaze asked,
"Where is A.J. this
morning?

Pony Girl
spoke up, "In
the Church. I’ll
saddle her horse,"

The Sundance Wives!
Four women in search of
the Philosopher's Stone in
1879 take over The Establishment.
Tumbleweed vs hoof of the wild boar!

Copyright 12/22/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist