Julian Mitchell
Western
Slipping from your sleeping arms I thought,
This is the first time you have slept alone
Since we were caught
Red-handed, handcuffed, prisoners of
The sheriff love,
And in his jail, each others’ arms, were thrown.
Watching you sleep in our enormous cell,
I blessed his handcuffs that had set us free:
I could not tell
The limits of my freedom till
I lay quite still
And felt my fellow-prisoner dream of me.
Dead or alive, the same reward is his,
And we, who scarcely lived, now gladly die.
Our sheriff is
Quick on the draw as Cupid, and
His irons brand
For life, till death, beneath a western sky.
Page(s) 23-24
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