En route out west
I saw the gist of anything at all
in a bright nugget of fool’s gold
I purchased at a roadside stand.
The guy selling it was dressed
in cowboy chaps. He had a drawl
and called me ‘Pardner.’ He sold
sparkly things, waving his hand.
He said out west
you can do what you want. All
day the sky shines blue and gold.
(He watched it from his little stand.)
I could tell he liked being dressed
that way, cowboy-like, to drawl
his words, pardner. What he sold
he bagged, waving his hand.
Back at the car I faced due west.
That nugget in that bag was all
I needed, really, it was real gold.
I’d come to understand
that how one happens to be dressed
matters little, voices drawl
mostly, dreams are sold
with a smile, a wave of the hand.
Terence Culleton is Philadelphia born and raised. He has earned his living as a factory line worker, warehouseman, cab driver, food industry worker, landscaper, and teacher. His love for the formal qualities of poetry was sparked by the good nuns, who placed a strong emphasis on the memorization and recital of poems, prayers, gospel passages, and responsories.