Editor’s note: We are always pleased when one of our contributors inspires another. Poet Leslie Klein sent us this poem after reading Robert Connors’ latest installment of “Recollections of A Pittsfield Kid” in which, just like in the westerns of the day, the “bad guys” would break the law and various townspeople got riled up. Then a posse was formed to deliver quick justice.
The bank robbers fled on horseback
racing toward prairie refuge under rock ledge
miles from the town, still reeling,
from the sudden turmoil of guns raised
and bandanas hiding determined faces.
The trail dust flew as hoofs beat into the red earth.
As they disappeared over the horizon
a new rhythm was stirring,
as a posse formed by angry citizens
galloped beyond the town limits
in pursuit of the miserable thieves.
Their relentless dedication
to retrieve the town’s fortune
and erase the vulnerability the robbery created,
heightened the pursuit to a crescendo of
dust and pounding hoofs into the night.
