A babyboomer and the high plains drifter

By Eric Lastick, a regular contributor

MY BABYBOOM MEMOIRS: In the back page of childhood with my silver ponyboy, cap shooter; a capgun reprise, to an old’ gunslinger true task master of all those ‘’ Billy the kid’’ folklores. Lamp up and lights on, to one’s own crawlspaces of body and mind.

BOYHOOD TAILS…so many, and so aim—–straight, young outlaw. They, the posse, ride their own aim to find; and to bring you, young gun slinger, rightfully in, dead or alive! Or what of one’s childhood fantasy. His fate to shine. Go a tightly fastened, real as red…and a rim tweed cowboys hat—and gallant be of a rocking horse tied by an old Saloon. A place of card game, you aim…and claim of all your battles. A gangster pride in seriousness, too your whole Saturday day long. A television little boy fantasy; as you, as a supposed adult begin to ask around, with a question: ‘’Had this been an upstanding town?’’ ‘’Well partner, as you say to yourself’’ ‘’Yes sir.’’ –And most calm…in the rightful owned and operated to the openness of the great plains; and to all the battles you have won. Sometimes though, to lose—yet right up to now, just in this fantasy as a young gun such as you take to the nearest and next ‘’tell-tale, to duel; and install a good rifleman on the heighted roof. 

A backup of favors ‘one’ has owned and trusted right in its debts of one’s word as their bond. –As someday in elder years…its reprises as returns, to the pull-out of your holsters; and my silver pony cap gun, pass to the next of kin. –As I know he’ll deal fair because that is how he will be brought up to be; although in subsequent as the generations past’ the very next battle of imagination sends waves of technology atop laughs of my own integrated banality! Now in this next travel, Pat Garrett AND Billy Bonny, known as ‘’Billy the kid, are not as slated in NEW Mexico…no fortress called Sumpter—-yet by way of a Tucson ranch…and of a communication in ‘’the cloud’’ by way of transistors to send of ones and of zeros. Virtual plains of reality…skipped and goggled, to hold in one place which seem so fantastical. Yet not real. –And so goes my Babyboy memoir gaged and bound in the year 2022.