Author Information
His Name Was Ono
Speakers of the easy vice
may call upon their chosen twice
and claim a deed was owed by one
and they say his name was Ono.
A western draft of samurai,
made of guns and dirt and knives
with which to throw and shoot and such
at a passing cowboy leisure.
Avoided by each tumbleweed
along their slow and blind stampede;
Ono called to towns at large
and sank his hand to hip.
And as the desert fly did rise,
so did sheriffs meet his eyes;
a man alike with blood and sweat,
who felt the lead and exit-wound.
Purposeless and void of greed;
to slay was Ono's vice indeed.
So slay he did to best his woes
of foregone love and loss and throes.
This walking man of leather stitch
with hands and bones and teeth that itched
would sweep the side of county plains
in search of scratching, clawing, biting things.
So loose his thoughts would tend to be
but sharpened sense would pull his feet
towards an end that may result
in resolve for a man like Ono.
