The Westward Ho Motel Daily

The Sundance Wives
behind closed doors, walls
papered so sepia thin, gossip
so loud the gunshot that killed religion
leaves no audible trace, pissed off hum
of hornets about our heads, we placed the
Gideons Bibles in the drawers staking our claim
to help someone in the night, those who might overdose
on morphine be saved -

- by scripture

hacked by verses
we find to be dull -

- but it is fate nevertheless

if it pleases
the gods, let
them die of old
age,

my god, we're
glad that the fact
that women could
only get whiskey for
snake bites is no longer
on the books, The Sundance
Wives signature tale -

- The Ballad of The Sundance Wives

famous of
the episodic
Legends of a
mercantile community -

- and film

The Westward Ho Motel Daily
retaining the moniker to drive our
creative desires and charitable acts,

burros come over
the hill reminding us
of Pagan incentive, and
it crosses our minds, if Madam
Pearl DeVere had known the earth
beneath her Old Homestead brothel
had a vein of gold in the shape of spread
thighs running deep?

storms, lightning,
to the saloons we bolt,
the wind blows the tumbleweed
to lead us to the claim of another
property, where there is gold there
are plural wives with conjugal rights
to the claim,

The Westward Ho Motel
doors are orange, a hot flame
color for what lies inside, walls
papered so sepia thin, gossip so
loud.

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist