We tackled the Wild West like it was manifest blessed, but tore holes in innocent chests, in our party rooms and our jests. We covered the plains with spilling, we rampaged the mountains for gold. We continued conquering, pillaging, and killing, and felt entitled to make others do as we told. There is no reset in this arcade. We cannot earn bonus lives, or super strength. We can see The difference we made, in who survives, and what is each life length. We can open the door to play in the past, a sesquicentennial ago or more, and be aghast at the perennial hello at the door. Excited. Divided. Reminded. Blinded to cycles that haven’t ended but entwined with our everyday lives and mind fits. Or we can progress, be humble and profess our need to clean up this mess and attest to the fact that we weren’t ever at our greatest or best.

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