Off the dusty
reckless trail,
my two angry-feet
stared back at me
from across my kingdom-
a claw-footed
tin-lined
copper washtub
manufactured in St. Louis
for wayward Western royalty,
just me and my feet.

From under the bubbles,
I swore there would be no trouble.
Between a thick-veneer of desert ****,
I told my toes not to be alarmed,
to hang tight,
'cause this was going
to be our night for peace.

The last thing I saw
as we drifted into serenity
was my twin 44's
hanging quietly
in my well worn holsters.

Yessum, there's were rare times
out here, out here
in the desperado-hinterlands,
where quick hands
could bury a man
and his two feet.

I felt my hands tremble
at the thought of tomorrow.
But for tonight,
this quiet peaceful evening,
me & my feet
were surely safe
from any
immediate harm.

Amen (for these peaceful easy feelings).