Lawrence
Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
The Sheriff’s
Office on Sunday Night
Now
The old week has ended; the new will begin tomorrow
Sunday night is the peaceful intermission
A bridge between worlds which can be its own
In Cinemascope and Technicolor
1878
The sheriff’s office is the color of dust
Crumbling adobe with a wooden porch
A kerosene lantern beside the door
A wanted poster or two tacked to the wall
Inside, a cluttered desk centers the room
A rack of Winchesters centers a wall
Through a window the desert sunlight angles in
Like a geometry problem set in Arizona
A ring of keys hang from a wooden peg
Surprisingly close to the iron-grated cells
Some chairs, law books, a deck of playing cards
A fire-blackened coffee pot that nobody ever cleans
1958
All is silent for a few minutes more
Howard Hawks has not yet taken his throne
The electricians and the sound technicians
Script girls and assistants, are still at the food truck
Now
On this side of the portal I cowboy up
With a glass of tea, popcorn in a bowl
My little dog dozing cozily in my lap
Chasing rabbits, not outlaws, in her dreams
Maybe this time the evil land baron
And his band of disposable desperadoes
Will bust his crooked brother out of jail
But I
don’t think so
The old week has ended; the new will begin tomorrow
For now, me and the sheriff’s got business
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