The Last Scout by Mark Kessinger

I was born in the time of cowboys in films.
Dozens of them
a nation obsessed with seeing itself
back the way it was
before wars too big
for any rope.

They sang, they rode, they shot
and even the bad guys
didn’t take it too far.

Why I ride with them now,
long after they vanished
long after that last sunset
circling back through reruns
all the scenes left behind
when lands were lands
and not condos or casinos.

There are Ansel Adams pics
in the background of those
bandanna operas
land looking the way it did
before cars drove it all away.

It’s all billboards now
and blinders, barbed-wire backlots,
private reserves for big honchos and
motel barons.

I’ve heard about it
before I passed it up as a kid
for jet packs and spy kits.
I wasn’t such a straight shooter then.

Now my camera feels robbed
and my vacations a bit cheated.
I find myself looking around
for wisdom and for
whatever it is now
that might could use some
tying down.

Mark Kessinger was born in Huntington, West Virginia, and attended Cleveland State University. He currently resides in Houston, Texas. His poetry has appeared in many publications and four anthologies.