Black and White

On the dusty avenue,
  the sheriff’s body sprawls,
white hat tumbling
  toward the empty churchyard.

In the lusty brothel,
  the robber’s body throbs,
black hat hanging
  from the flimsy headboard.

Beside his trusty mule,
  the traveler gaily whistles,
gray eyes gazing
  as the sun turns to red.

(Written after watching the antepenultimate episode of Westworld.)

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