The Old Old-West Town

Weeds and grass grow in the cracks of sun-faded, crumbling pavement, a parking lot that once was full of stressed parents and cowboys nascent. A grand sign over the entry now is rotted two-thirds away, this old piece of my childhood truly has seen better days. It was an old-west town once, where we learned of the frontier, now the totem pole is fallen down, brings to my eye a sad tear. The old Indian village, long gone, is now just some concrete pads, not the grand teepees I explored back when I was just a lad. The cavalry fort once rose proud, a solid wall of rough-hewn logs, now one rampart remains, broken, sinking into a nearby bog. It’s old flagpole still stands tall, but Old Glory no longer flutters, trash and graffiti lie about, the whole place looks like a gutter. And up at the bank where long ago the ‘bandits’ always struck ad two, I can recall how kids with cap guns always ‘made’ them drop their loot. Nearby is the big stable where families could take trial rides, the roof is gone, it’s been ten years since any horse was inside. Finally I see the arena where rodeo riders ran wild, wrestling steers, breaking a bronc, clinging to a bull with style. The old stands are half-collapsed, the corral is full of small trees, hard to believe it ever enrapt young children in such revelry. Some say it was P.C. parents afraid of imaginary strife, some say the Hollywood now can’t make a western to save their life. Others say that the owners died, and their kids didn’t want to load, whatever the reason, it was sad the day the old-west town closed. I hear that there are now big plans to turn it all into a park, a taxpayer-funded state debacle, as such projects usually are. They have their designs but we all know what should really be done, it should be rebuilt so that our kids have a place to run ’round with cap guns.