Bonanza

They had armchairs fat as hot tubs,
staircase tall as a waterfall,
but what I waited for was
Little Joe,

even smaller
next to head-scratching Hoss,
holsters chafing as they swung
into saddles,
Pa on the front porch
stern as Poseidon,
his three grown boys sailing
the prickly prairie.

That club was Men Only
and their ancient creed stood firm—
Guide the ladies’ puffy descent
from carriages,
but clutch your bachelorhood
close as cash.

Kid without clout,
zealous as a runaway,
I craved entrance to that fort
and that army of brothers,
Little Joe
their weakest link,

a man known to wink
as bonnets bobbed;
part eunuch,
part heart-throb,
a virgin’s ticket West.

Lynn McGee