SAGEBRUSH RANCH
holding his small hand,
jumping up and down,
in the silver box —
a playground with mirrors
and three buttons.
people that look like us
are all around.
when the box is full
they disappear.
the ding-ding sounds
and doors part ways,
as we exit into the gallery,
where only grandma takes note
of the paintings that blur
as we hurry to the Sagebrush Ranch.
the stagecoach rocks,
horses hooves...
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