In Which I Agree With South Park Children About Summer

The stupid sun just blazes in the sky
And I'm too close to it, here in Cheyenne,
Though I'd be closer back at home. It's dry,
But lo, it burns like napalm when it can.
When waves of it are visible, and when
The wind forgets to blow, when e'en the birds
Tweet less, I think of all the times I've been
Prostrated by the summer time. No words
Can e'er convey my sunburn's pain; no balm
Can comfort it, save vinegar, which stings

As much as it stinks also. But I'm calm.

I'm almost home, where, among other things

A ceiling fan and lemonade await

If I can make it. If not, good-bye, Kate.

In Which The Annoying Side Of Winter Comes Early

O wind, I've had enough of you. The snow

That fell so lightly last week blew away.

The trash you blew into my small yard, though,

Won't budge now. All of it is here to stay

Until I trudge outside and pry it loose

From plant stalks, branches, fenceposts - these all clutch

At what they've caught, tenaciously. Profuse

Enough, the snow we'll have -- too much,

Some folk will say -- but it at least can hide

The plastic bags and flyers, wrappers, junk

That flies around, breeze-tossed, both far and wide

Until it comes to me. Here comes a hunk

Of Taco Bell refuse right now. Come back,

Dear snow, and cover up the verve I lack.

Score 44 For The Border War

It almost didn't happen, but we got

The Bronze Boot this year, with a fine blow-out!

As football rivalries go this is not

So famous as some others, but we shout

As though it were -- in truth, though, we've both sucked --

But someone had to win and yay, it's us!

As might be said, those Cowboys really bucked

The sheep this year, and that is worth a fuss

As you Wyoming fans all prove it's true

That if we only beat one team it's best

If it is Brigham Young or CSU.

Tonight in Laramie, the wild wild west

Will live again. My sister must regret

She chose the Boise State game, I just bet...

In Which I Have Another Bad Car Trip

Westbound and down, the wrong time of the day,
And I was driving straight into the sun.
My windshield's imperfections made a spray
Of glare that 'twas opaque. I slowed our run
To just a crawl. 'Tis what I dread the most:
To have to drive at highway speeds when I
Can't see a thing; delinator posts
And faded striping slowly crawling by
As though it were a blizzard late at night.
The world shrank down to squeeze in on my car,
And ev'ry forward mile a sep'rate fight
Until I knew no longer just how far
Or near the next town was. Lost, there, in space
I struggled not to curse that lonely place.

In Which Old Friendship Stays Deep: @Globetrot and @ShannonKastner And Me

Oh, how did sixteen years go quickly by
Without the sight of this pair? They are two
Of my most cherished friends. I did rely
On both of them to keep me sane -- lo, youth
Is not so kind to geeks in rednecked lands,
And we had vast and empty spaces 'tween
Our tiny towns. Someone who understands
That knowledge is its own fun, has a keen
And lively int'rest in the world beyond
Wyoming can get lonely, might go mad.
But Shannon and her Steven, of such fond,
Untarnish'd mem'ry made things not so bad.
We kept in touch and last night I refreshed
My eyes and spirit with them, and feel blessed.

In Which I Prepare For A New Adventure!

It's Friday in my strange, shift-working world,
And nearly time for me to call it quits.
I stretch out with a smile, my limbs uncurled,
Preparing to go north to match my wits
With my friend Jana on a real chessboard
Instead of one on Facebook, and to quaff
Some margaritas. I'll emerge restored,
I think, from Chugwater (now don't you scoff;
It may be podunk to the untrained eye
But it is all about who lives there, no?)
I'm sure that soon the time will simply fly
Too swiftly and 'twill be time to come home.
Oh -- wish me luck, would you? She's kicked my ass
Of late. I'm tired of losing; e'en with class.

In Which I Take My Last Road Trip Over The Range

The road will likely close soon for the year,

Wyoming 130 across the Range

Called Snowy, and it will do so, I fear

Before I may return to it. So strange

Today to see the aspens' hues in gold

And snow accumulated on the ground.

This last trip's memories will have to hold

Me till next spring. I rolled my windows down

Despite the cold, to let in those last smells

For my and Molly's pleasure, let my eyes

Go all unshaded, killed the radio. Spells

Of purest bliss would take me. Such good-byes

Are for all of the senses. But hellos

Await me, too, ahead, in winter's snows.

All In A Saratoga Morning

I've had sufficient coffee not to sleep
Until around this week next time, I think.
I'm glad I've still the skills that let me leap
From coffee klatsch to coffee klatsch and drink
Such copious quantities with ne'er a stop.
First my old man and his old friends with whom
I dip back into politics, then drop
On by another bar, there to consume
With my small hot chick posse a bit more.
Then coffee with my lunch, then the salon:
A cut and color genius has in store
A bold new plan for my look. Foiled and on
The fumes of haute hair product, I admire
The stylist's hunting pictures. They inspire!

In Which I Whistle And Scratch A Backstay Just A Bit

My sails are hanging limp, empty, I guess.

I drift in doldrums I have never known

Were on this map. I really must confess:

Sometimes it sucks to be here on my own.

My schedule's changed; a one-day difference

Should not affect me so - I'm at a loss

To find another cause for this real sense

Of stasis, though. Oh, soon, something must cross

My path to wake and stir me. Once, of old

Did sailors whistle, scratch backstays to bring

The wind that moves them onward, I am told;

A superstition to which I might cling

Were I not where I am. Wyoming wind

Is worse than the ennui by which I'm pinned.

SONNET DARE: In Which I Plan My Annual Hasty Escape From Cheyenne

Cheyenne is where I live and work, but lo:
Each summer comes a time when it's like hell.
At first in June the streets are torn up so
That bike commuting's best, though a hard sell
For folks who love their pickups as these do.
Post-haste a summer's worth of work is done
In preparation for an onslaught. Coo!
Frontier Days brings all, under one hot sun,
That I like least about Wyoming life:
Fake cowboys, amateur drunks, strafing planes,
Loud music that goes twang and redneck strife
(Thanks, Walter, for this dare to list my banes).
At least it leaves the mountains free for those
Who like Wyoming for its sweet repose.

In Which I Grouse A Bit About My New License Plate

Booktastic Jack got his new tags today,

More than just tags; Wyoming's got new plates.

Sure on a website they look nice, but they

Are not so vivid in real life. Our state's

Got much to live up to in this regard.

Most recently, we featured Devil's Tow'r,

Long famed, if you're a UFO diehard,

As where some Spielberg aliens in our

Collective memory touched down. We've still

The bucking horse, of course, forevermore.

Ol' Steamboat will not leave us, not until

The Yellowstone volcano blows up or --

I can't think of what else. But this I knows:

The Tetons don't show up, so this plate blows.

Sonnet For Josh And Sarah Kelly, On The Occasion Of Their Wedding

At Vedauwoo I watched, before the storm,

Beneath the shadow of enormous rocks,

Amidst the scent of pines and in the warm

Light of the sun sound of calling flocks

Of birds and of rock climbers, as my friends

Sipped water, layered sand and shared a gaze

Presaging a long trip that never ends.

It's evening now; they're drenched and in a daze:

The thunder pealed, the clouds cut loose with rain

And hail as they wrapped up their promises.

Two families rejoiced well in their gain.

Now he is hers as well as she is his.

True to each other, true too to themselves,

And ever merry as befits two elves.

In Which I Rant Not A Little About Wildfires And A Six-Legged Cause Thereof, Even Though I Dig Insects As A Whole

I feel for Santa Barb'ra as the fire,
It edges closer with the worst intent
(If fire may have intent, this one's is dire).
Someday that will be me and mine. Ill-spent
Has been the time and resources to fight
Dendroctonus - the pine beetle, whose spread
Across the Med Bow Forest came to light
When I was just a sprat. Now trees are dead
And ready to catch fire, and when they do
Encampment and my Saratoga both,
Baggs too and all the little spots are through.
The timber industry, whose normal growth
And work could have prevented this outcome
Were killed off long before. It's beyond dumb.

In Which I Commemorate A Moment In History Which May Otherwise Pass Unremarked

This week, I think, was surely the first time
That Twitter witnessed such a thing as this:
A trade of barbs about a slab of slime
(A governor we cast to the abyss,
Whom I already called out as Vogon)
Morphed into reminiscing some about
Past Congressmen that Wyoming did spawn:
Not just ol' Unca Dick, last seen without
Much more to do than scowl in his wheelchair,
But a much less familiar name to most
Our own Teno Roncalio, whose flair
And funniness few now know well. A toast
To you, Ken Rudin, and I must say yes
We're first to tweet 'bout Teno, I would guess.

Though The Fact It Got This Far Is Rather Detestable...

Our Rancheslature made me somewhat proud
This week by choosing not to pass along
A spiteful measure that would have allowed
Our state to be a party to a wrong.
Amend our constitution, just to say
That even if one goes to other states
To marry, if one happens to be gay,
Wyoming will say pooh, you are not mates?
It's Cowboy but it's not Equality,
And would have covered all of us in shame.
I speak not just of the publicity,
But also of the hate it would proclaim.
And though I do have neighbors who'd vote in
This measure; I say so to my chagrin.

In Which I Elucidate how Wyoming Winter Blows

Few snowball fights or snowmen happen here.
We watch white streaks instead whiz by like stars
In film effects as spaceships fly and veer
At faster speeds than light can go. Our cars
Are sometimes buried deeply in the stuff,
And must be excavated by and by
With shovels, but more often it's enough
To brush it off, so powdery and dry
Is Cheyenne's version of a winter's snow.
But even that is rare, as rare's the day
When after any cruel and snowy night
That any of that snow is there to stay
Upon the ground to glitter by daylight.
But woe betide us, if the snow's still there;
The wind makes a new storm, perhaps a pair.

Downturn, Schmownturn, I've Got Hope and I'm Buying a House to Prove It!

I'm off on an exciting journey, which,
I once would never have thought could occur.
I knew that houses weren't just for the rich,
But didn't grasp just what my options were.
Financial news is grim 'most ev'rywhere;
Wyoming, though, is still in decent shape.
Our progress is so slow and we're so square,
That we take time to catch up, or escape,
The trends beyond our borders. I, therefore,
Have got a chance to move now to improve
My lot in life, to free my hopes to soar,
To make at last a long-awaited move.
I'm house-hunting, for keeps this time, hooray!
All thanks due to the WCDA.