Somewhere in Wyoming
You’re a mountain-town of moguls
all terracotta soil, shrubbery, and sky
where forest fires shroud the Teton peaks.
Home of backyard barbecues
under cover of aspens,
teens sporting Tevas and full beards
who thrill-seek and smoke weed
near winding roads.
On a washed out horizon you’re
the wasteland town where the sign reads
and yields to the drag of gas stations and
Ranch country where hikers
brave brisk air for shots
of pink sunglow sunset and elk,
homages to Mangelsen.
Days spent at altitude with bleary eyes
and split lips chewed
till creases fill with crimson.
The unofficial capital of live music,
dehydration headaches, and extreme