Scene from an Imaginary Western
By Ewan
Sat, 06 Dec 2008
- 2454 reads
12 comments
The valley slides off the hillsides
and bottoms out, flat and riverless.
Dry-gulching they called it from
under stetsons white and black
- and it looks a likely place of ambush.
Purple sage on distant slopes
lacks only riders to lend it
iconography.
And yet this isn't Montana, New Mexico
-or yet any Western mythagora-
but Malaga in winter.
Walking through the rutted mud
in the cool valley bottom,
I tip my imaginary ten-gallon hat
to the campesino high in the saddle.
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Comments
Puts me in mind of that that
Puts me in mind of that that spaghetti Western... The Man From Almeria.
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You're quick on the draw
You're quick on the draw today pardner. A man don't get a chance to edit. A Fistful of Tapas?
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That there will be hard to
That there will be hard to beat. The Good, the Bad and the Expat Community?
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So true. Not one of cinema's
So true. Not one of cinema's greatest moments. And sometimes the Sixties seems like 200 Motels played backwards at speed.
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