ARDOR Literary Magazine

ARDOR Literary Magazine - Issue Three, September 2013

Issue One, Published January 2013

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Page 55 of 109

POETRY VOGEL GERMAN WILD MARK VOGEL He has always loved equally the cowboy and Indian, seeing wilderness in parks and trees behind crowded Munich streets, so now, comfortable with his passions, he buys his ticket to the West, and through a hissing rectangle views the Missouri and Mississippi merge, then badland cuts, strip pit mining holes, cloud shadows, an isolated ranch on a straight line road. He is at home as the whitened Rockies grow huge, dominating the plain. In Salt Lake City, with boyish eagerness he rents a car and points north to the Tetons where already elk and antelope roam. His GPS insists on a short cut Forest Service road graveled and stretching forever, and within minutes the November snow floats and blankets thick. Though his eager bohemian cowboy movie paints him as horseman at home in the saddle, complete with weathered hat, after a mere twenty miles his tiny car proves no match for the uniform white. Likewise his urban overcoat, fit for existential bleak is nothing in the wind— his gloves are instantly stiff walking like a robot in blizzard swirl, incapable of seeing the depth of errors. By sheer black and white cowboy luck he blunders onto the Rockefeller ranch now boarded and covered for the season, and just as the cold owns him, he breaks in then collapses, an alarm sounding to uninhabited sky. Two hours later a Park Service crew arrives to diagnose his fluttering shock, knowing by all rights he should be dead, ARDOR | 52

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