Spaghetti Eastern
Sheriff Winstone P. Coltrane
Strides through the wide dusty streets of Zespri Gulch.
He’s cleaning up town. No more varmints!
Sheriff Winstone comes across a gang of Chinese railway labourers
Busily laying down rails in the hot sun.
“Git!” Barks Sheriff Winstone.
The labourers run off down the tracks.
Sheriff Winstone comes across an Indian dairy owner
Standing proudly behind the counter of his off licence.
“Git!” Barks Sheriff Winstone.
The dairy owner sadly packs his suitcase and wanders off.
Sheriff Winstone continues up Zespri Gulch out of town
Into the dry desolate hills.
He turns around and glares at his hapless pack mule Stu.
“Git!” Barks Sheriff Winstone.
Stu the jackass mournfully retreats back down the rugged path.
Sheriff Winstone marches on alone into the bad lands.
It is getting unbearably hot.
Sheriff Winstone stumbles over rocks.
The trail seems to go in terrible endless loops.
He is parched. His head swims. He has no idea where he is.
There is no one around, and the silence
Is broken only by the sibilant croak of a vulture circling high above.
Sheriff Winstone lies down next to a lone cactus.
Sweat pours down his neck.
“Landsakes,” says Sheriff Winstone.
“Where is everybody?”
The cactus shimmers in the unbearable heat.
“I guess the world has moved on, Sheriff,”
Says the Cactus.
