"gunfight" poems
You look me in the eyes and spit,
And I kick dust on the wet spot on the ground.
This is how we are, a conversation; you never cared to call me something like my name.
I never cared to see you in any way but under my boot with blood on your teeth.
There is no moon above us, even when the sun’s gone to hide at the nearest bar.
This is not a war that can be won with pickets and strikes.
The only way to end the battle
Is that someone has to die.
A standoff only ends when one is left standing, it’s the rules,
but you never did care for rules, and breaking is easier than bending.
You never apologize and I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth.
The sun’s gone to hide at the local bar and it drinks whiskey shots like water.
It has seen us fight.
The moon doesn’t want to come out, stays tucked safe in its bed.
It has heard stories.
Only the stars act as referee, calling out which one of us died better.
It’s all an act, a ******* contest, and you sure are good at wetting the ground.
I’m better at covering up where the bloodstains were,
stain chicken feathers red as the sunset, Please, I ask you,
Let him win one last time.
The hourglass broke, the sand mixing with the red clay,
And you claim to know that his time is up.
I claim to know that you’re a lying son of a ***** who takes what isn’t his.
And you claim that I’m just a child,
but children don’t know why their knuckles are
bleeding
and children don’t get why their jaws hurt
and children only bleed when summer is restless
and children never pull real guns anyway.
You brought a knife to a gunfight,
a gun to face the firing squad, a one child firing squad,
knees stuck together with blood and chicken feathers.
Please, you ask me,
Let me win one last time.
And I learn that breaking is easier than bending;
And I learn how my name sounds on your lips.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
There's gonna be a gunfight
Out there in the street
All the stores closed early
To see who would be beat
The gunfighters got ready
Neither would back down
Each one gave the other
24 hours to leave town
Bifocal bill was ready
He said " That drunkards gonna pay !"
Then stood there shouting " Draw ya punk "
Facing the wrong way !!
The Whisky Kid stepped into sight
And staggered about the place
He looked bill up and down a while
Then fell down on his face !!
The crowd stood waiting eagerly
And as they booed and hissed
Bill squeezed off the first shot
To no surprise .. he missed !
The whisky kid then stood up.. swore
Cursed .. some foul abuse
Then called to bill " i need a drink !
" howz about we call a truce ?
Bill fired his gun repeatedly
Bullets spun off left and right
The whisky kid fell on the ground
The crowd went silent at this sight
The whisky kid just lay there
With a bottle in his hand
Bill grinned and said " The kid is dead !
But he was just too drunk to stand
The sheriff said " i guess that's that "
And as they turned to go
Bill's gun slipped from it's holster
And blew off his big toe !!.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
I'm a graying aged gunfighter
Time to get out of the game
I can not see to shoot my gun
I can not see to aim
I used to be the best there was
The top of every list
Now I can't hit a **** barn door
I shot at one and missed
I could out draw anyone
Who faced me on the street
Now, I'm more than likely
To put a bullet 'tween my feet
I play a little poker now
Spend my days just passing time
I break even mostly
The way I play, well, that's a crime
No one round here knows me
They don't know about my past
To them I'm just a codger
I don't do one **** thing fast
I noticed things were changing
Ten years back I'd say
I had a gun fight in Dodge City
And it didn't go my way
I threw down with some punk kid
He was drunk and really ******
I got my gun stuck in my holster
He fell down, he shot, he missed
I walked to him now laying
In the street, out cold, not dead
I took his gun and holster
And then went home to bed
A gunfighter of substance
Would have killed me where I stood
Was I lucky he was drunk then?
Or was I losing it for good?
I packed my stuff up in the morning
I left the town later that night
The next fighter might be sober
And I'd not survive that fight
I took off for the desert
Made plans just where I would go
A state where I could hide out
Where my past, no one would know
On the way I stopped and practiced
Shot some cactus and some trees
I was shooting though at rabbits
I can't survive here eating these
One day, a rogue coyote
Came and took me by surprise
I shot a tree, it fell on him
I aimed between his eyes
The sooner I got settled
The safer I would feel
Too much longer in the desert
I'd end up some varmints tasty meal
I rode on in to where I am
I can't tell you just what town
I've got to keep it secret
Or I may just get shot down
I have a small room at the hotel
I play cards to pay the rent
I speak with a slightly muddled accent
I try to be a southern gent
I've been here now for near six months
The town is growing fast
So, my time here might be cut short
With the future, comes my past
For now I just play poker
An old gunfighter at heart
One day I know they'll find me
I'll go to boot hill in a cart
I'm an aged old gunfighter
There's not many still around
I'm hiding now from my last gunfight
That will put me six feet in the ground.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 10:07 PM UTC
I. i was seventeen and bitter and you
knew nothing, old man.
because you said, "look how she hurts him, using her gender--"
(no, her *** her womb ******* sultry eyes they've sexualized since age five,
to make mincemeat of astronaut dreams, to make docile queens breed and)
"-- as a weapon"
would you not bring, at least, a knife to a gunfight, old man?
(have you ever had nothing but a knife against a bullet, 500mph to your head?)
II. i hate you. i hear my words in your voice,
in that awkward cadence, like you're telling an sanitized moral,
some comfortable truth, perhaps, or maybe the secret to your
moderate publishing success. can you leave my words alone
III. i'd like to apologize, maybe, a little, for the insolence.
i'm not really a rude person.
i'd like to prove that while staying honest, but what would i say?
"i'm sorry i'm a **** "i'm sorry you're a ****
i'm sorry this world's a **** i can't do the reading tonight
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
Rivets of words
Like swords in a gunfight
Silence roars
Like love, without light
A singularity
of frightful might
Ravages the desert
and storms the memories, in
That little backyard of your own
Stories you shall tell
of places far and near
Reminiscence is cute
But it won't last, dear
A billion sparks
Drive you close to tears
Won't I wonder, whats inside
closing your eyes, its
That little backyard of your own
Denial is just a game
Still you run forever
Looking back again
A dreadful fever
Nobody wants to die
Nobody can live forever
Won't you hold my hand
For a moment, in
That little backyard of your own
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
there were lights blazing to the east
but her eyes were fixed to the west
someplace out in that darkness he rode into the night
with his gun in hand to regulate the doubters
she lay in the aftermath of the gunfight
with her cards and flowers
wondering where she had gone so wrong
wondering if she would ever get that white picket fence
with the two kids and all the fixins of her dreams
dawn begins to do its silent dance
as she worried the edge of her dress
and looked so like a lost angel
fallen from grace but holding her own
she will make breakfast for the townsmen
and serve up the hard liquors
just a matter of time she thinks to herself
before he will come back this way
take her up to the bedroom with promises on his grin
and for a moment she will believe once again
that itll all change
he will take her far away from this place
someday she will have the dreams
but for now she slips the ring into her pocket
and gets back to work
someday
someday
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
*Oh, no.
These dreams will keep me up at night.
Matrix in dodging a gunfight.
Hell entered my yard
but I lit the match like
it wasn't that hard.
It's best you recollect the fact
the boy you overlooked would never see you pass the past
to greatness in a purpose that will always be in tact.
My suggestion is you cannot move back
just push it to the front.
Feet is moving slower every time you hit the blunt.
360 in my aura to mistake it for a stunt.
Rabbit hole awaits me while the world is too loud.
Silence in discovery of your future abound.*
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
IT HAS HAPPENED AGAIN,
Its alright they say,
Raise your head high and pray,
Nobody has time to play,
Its another day,
Everyone wanna be on the spotlight,
It has become more frightening,
Turn on the news at 5,
It's another fight,
Everyone is fighting for their right,
Just to see the light,
It's a gunfight,
All we see is candlelight,
Only few could see the night,
I remember back in the days ,
When we play in our place,
Sand on our face,
As we ran in the race.
But its too late,
The memories has faded,
All in the name of war,
We stare at the sunlight,
the world is changing each and every day,
The days are becoming dark,
the hearts turning black,
The minds are becoming wide,
the people are turning aggressive,
A beautiful world full of happiness & laughter,
Caught in between a raging war,
the innocent were murdered,
by men of war,
With solid guns,
Who spare no life in battlefield,
Spraying to destruction & death as if they weren't
meant to be,
I see humans, but no humanity."
Insane u were born,
Hypocrites you have become,
Hell you will abide,
If only u knew,
Life is not yours,
If only you understood,
War has options,
If only u could think,
Am only 18
Acting like a teen ,
trying to survive within time,
to live and fight another day!
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
Now that you're done
you're not
not really
actually you've not even started
Oh sure
you're done with the free part of your schooling
and with childhood
but take it from me, you can make childhood a skill to build a career on
but life as a big person
and I don't mean fat
is just starting
like in the movie Silverado
when Scott Glenn opens the door to his shack on a mountain
and sees the world before him
except you don't have to have a gunfight to get out
like he did
but that was just a movie and we are talking about your life
still that is a favorite movie of mine
So yes
your life is just beginning
and as much as it will hurt me when you go away and live it
I knew this day would come
that you would go
that our lives would forever be different
and mostly separate
I'm taking for granted that you'll be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas
just stay in touch
throw in an awful joke about the civil war and giraffes once in awhile for good measure
and after the "that was an awful joke" comments have faded
think of me
and smile
Oh
and don't forget to call your mom once in awhile or I''l hear about it.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
I was on a bomb site
off Meadow Row
with Helen
searching for small stones
for my catapult
she had her doll
Battered Betty
in one hand
and was looking at the ground
through her thick lens glasses
how small do
they have to be?
she said
about this size
I said
showing her
with my thumb and finger
we searched amongst the bricks
and rubble and bits
of wood and weeds
is this small enough?
she said
picking up a stone
and putting it
in the palm
of her small hand
I went to her
and gazed at it
and picked it up
and said
yes that's about right
and put it in a small pouch
made from an old handkerchief
tied together
and tied to the belt
around my blue jeans
how many stones
do you need?
she said
because Betty
is getting hungry
and I will have to
feed her soon
with the bottle
in my dress pocket
o about a handful
I said
just a few more
ok
she said
and we looked on
Betty hanging
from Helen's hand
by her tiny hand
just then a copper
walked across the bomb site
from the New Kent Road
trudging at his own pace
towards us
Helen saw him first
and stood up
and clutched Betty
close towards her chest
her eyes large
and scared looking
I stood up and put
my hands in the pockets
of my blue jeans
you ought not to be
on bomb sites
he said
they're dangerous places
Helen opened her mouth
to speak
but nothing came
but air
we're collecting stones
for my catapult
I said
he stood upright
with his hands on his hips
staring at us both
I don't care
if you're collecting gems
for Her Majesty the Queen
I want you off now
and to go home
he said
his voice firm and baritone
only I need ammunition
I said
and this is the best
place for them
off and go home
he said peering at me
his eyes dark and enlarging
Helen was nigh
wetting herself
so I shrugged and said
ok but we'll be back
once you've gone
Helen stared at me
as if I'd passed wind
GO NOW
he bellowed
pigeons flew up and off
from the bomb site
at the sound
we walked off
the bomb site together
she looking ahead
eyes tearful
I gazing back
like I'd seen this cowboy do
in that Western film
before a gunfight
I'd seen with my old man
the previous night.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
What have you done to me,
a murderer is fun to be?
Will you use that gun you see,
put that bullet right through me?
Maybe a pistol isn't right for you,
maybe a knife with fight for few,
to see the crimson bright gore through,
you have ruined the white score new,
the anguish is obvious at the sight for you.
But pleasure meant so much more,
than the gentle touch of a *****
That's what made you think,
it makes me shrink,
makes me drink,
I'm at the brink,
I'm the missing link.
Load your gun,
you think you've won.
Grab your knife,
and take my life.
In the end,
its you my friend,
that ceases to wake.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
Helen climbed
the concrete stairs
to Benny's flat
where his mother answered
and Helen said
is Benny home?
no he's out Helen
his mother said
out where?
Helen said
he went out
with his six-shooter
and cowboy hat
so he's maybe
on a bomb site
try the one
up Meadow Row
he's often there
his mother said
Helen nodded
and said thank you
and walked down the stairs
and across the Square
and down the slope
across Rockingham Street
and up along Meadow Row
she'd not brought
her doll Battered Betty
as her brother
had torn off an arm in play
and it needed mending
when she came
to the greengrocer shop
on Arch Street
she walked along
to view the bomb site
and putting a hand
over her eyebrows
to block out the morning sun
she gazed at the huge bomb site
anxiously(she didn't like
bomb sites alone)
she saw him over
by the railway bridge
firing his six-shooter
at an imaginary enemy
she called out to him
and walked across
the rough ground
of the bomb site
towards him
he stopped firing
and put his six-shooter
away in an holster
with a twirl of fingers
been looking for you
she said
your mum said
you might be here
Benny pushed back
his cowboy hat
to the back of his head
his quiff of hair
standing up
had a gunfight planned here
so had to leave early
he said
gunfight
she said
with who?
she looked around
at invisible enemies
Frank and Jessie James
he said
and their gang of course
she looked in the direction
he pointed and nodded
need any help from me?
she said
looking at Benny
through her thick lens spectacles
no I shot them both
and the gang fled
he said
did you get shot?
she asked
only in the arm
he said
pointing at his left arm
she looked at his 7 year old arm
but didn't see
a wound or blood
but pretended
looks bad
she said
maybe I should put
an handkerchief around it
ok if you like
he said
she fiddled in her skirt pocket
and brought out
a small girl's handkerchief
and tied it around his arm
and tied a knot
is that better?
she said
yes it is
he said
didn't want to bleed to death
no
she said
and they walked off
across the bomb site
let's go to Baldwin's
the herbalist shop
and get some sarsaparilla
to make more blood
he said
and she looked at his arm
and saw imaginary blood all red.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
The first time you flew
you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much
thinner up here,
that below they have to breathe
the crushing weight of the
stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed
to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make
any noise yet
every day you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife
and a guidebook of expectation.
You don’t remember filling out an
application for this life, for
now-flightless wings and for being
their daughter,
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
and the first time you flew
you heard birds laugh at you
and the air was so thin
you fell right through,
and the silence so thick
you landed hard,
lungs aching,
but you were never afraid of the dark,
*in the high water
watch out for sharks*
because you aren’t one for stark
contrasts and it’s nice to feel
like nothing at all,
keep falling.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem you drank tea
out of a paper cup, no mug
in the sink, no need for anyone
to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key
in your new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel
at home anymore,
and the first time you were afraid of the dark
you weren’t,
because it can’t get you
if it can’t see you’ve left any mark.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem the *** boiled
even though you watched,
and you drank tea out of a paper cup
and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that
song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you
meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
I hear your name
Whispered in shrieks
Written in blood
Spelled out in snakes.
If I step in gum,
See a child cry,
Hear a man berate his wife
For his own personal pleasure
If I see a gunfight,
Wake up coldly sweating and unaware
Hear a siren
Smoke a laced cigarette that makes me sick
Take a rusty nail through my shoe
No, make that ten rusty nails.
These are the little things that remind me each day
Of the merry memory of you.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
The first time you flew you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much thinner up here, that below
they have to breathe the crushing weight of the stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make any sound yet every day
you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife and a guidebook
of expectations. You don’t remember filling an application
for this, for now-flightless wings or for being this daughter
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
but the first time you landed you didn’t write a thing,
you just drank tea out of a paper cup, no mug in the sink,
no need for anyone to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key in this new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel at home anymore.
The *** boiled even though you watched, and you drank
out of a paper cup and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
I can hear them
Voices being raised
As each shell detonates
And I know I'll be
Walking in a field of landmines
For the next few days
As is always the case
Since I was eight
Each time my earplugs I grab
Drowning the sounds of the blasts
Shielding my memory form its shards
But only a while this could last
For a knife I brought to a gunfight
I was dragged
And the blasts over and over
Explode in my head
As my mind a war zone it became.
©Belema .S. Ekine
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
IT HAS HAPPENED AGAIN,
Its alright they say,
Raise your head high and pray,
Nobody has time to play,
Its another day,
Everyone wanna be on the spotlight,
It has become more frightening,
Turn on the news at 5,
It's another fight,
Everyone is fighting for their right,
Just to see the light,
It's a gunfight,
All we see is candlelight,
Only few could see the night,
I remember back in the days ,
When we play in our place,
Sand on our face,
As we ran in the race.
But its too late,
The memories has faded,
All in the name of war,
We stare at the sunlight,
the world is changing each and every day,
The days are becoming dark,
the hearts turning black,
The minds are becoming wide,
the people are turning aggressive,
A beautiful world full of happiness & laughter,
Caught in between a raging war,
the innocent were murdered,
by men of war,
With solid guns,
Who spare no life in battlefield,
Spraying to destruction & death as if they
weren't meant to be,
I see humans, but no humanity."
Insane u were born,
Hypocrites you have become,
Hell you will abide,
If only u knew,
Life is not yours,
If only you understood,
War has options,
If only u could think,
Am only 18
Acting like a teen ,
trying to survive within time,
to live and fight another day!
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to *****
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden ****** of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
The first time you flew
you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much
thinner up here,
that below they have to breathe
the crushing weight of the
stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed
to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make
any noise yet
every day you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife
and a guidebook of expectation.
You don’t remember filling out an
application for this life, for
now-flightless wings and for being
their daughter,
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
and the first time you flew
you heard birds laugh at you
and the air was so thin
you fell right through,
and the silence so thick
you landed hard,
lungs aching,
but you were never afraid of the dark,
*in the high water
watch out for sharks*
because you aren’t one for stark
contrasts and it’s nice to feel
like nothing at all,
keep falling.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem you drank tea
out of a paper cup, no mug
in the sink, no need for anyone
to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key
in your new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel
at home anymore,
and the first time you were afraid of the dark
you weren’t,
because it can’t get you
if it can’t see you’ve left any mark.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem the *** boiled
even though you watched,
and you drank tea out of a paper cup
and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that
song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you
meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
In this world, we write our histories
with the blood of our enemies.
Too many mysteries
Too many identities.
We wage war against our own kind.
But what for?
We are blind
when fighting in war.
Behind every gunsight
is a human being.
In every gunfight
we are loosing
despite the nation winning.
Soldiers don't know each other
but lie in the dirt, bleeding
to death together.
They all have one thing in common.
They died believing what they did was right.
But their stories will be forgotten.
Their heroism will be forgotten in the fight.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
So my Lawnmower Repair Guy...
The wind that blows
Is all that anyone knows
-Henry David Thoreau
And is the man all right? Nobody knows
And my lawnmower is hidden behind a fence
A chain-link fence, among mowers in rows
The owner lost a gunfight; he was taken hence
And what about the mowers? Nobody knows
And is the man all right? Nobody knows
UPS has left notes; the door is locked
There is no sound of man or machine
No one has answered when customers knocked
Only the guard-dogs (yep, they’re really mean)
And is the man all right? Nobody knows
Sergeant Schultz at the cop-shop - she knows nothink
She’s busy with her personal smartphone
Her eyes are fixed; they do not move or blink
And I am all alone in The Twilight Zone
And is the man all right? Nobody knows
So what really happened? Nobody knows
And is the man all right? Nobody knows
So who can I contact? Nobody knows
And is the man all right? Nobody knows
Only the wind...
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 3:54 PM UTC
The sky hung full of ****** above the execution bell.
The crow circles overhead irreverently, dressed in his Sunday best.
In the bar the dead men fought.
From the counter outside they flew.
Spilled into the street in front of a few.
Two cowboys, guns in both of their hands, wrathful and vengefully meeting demands.
The young lady with the mess of blonde hair, was heard to squeal,
"Oh Jimmy, fight not over me, let him go, let him go free".
The lady in the emerald hat cried "Jimmy and Jason, please stop that."
I hate it when you play with guns.
One of the problems when you have stroppy twin sons.
Their weapons discarded into the bin.
After the gunfight that no brother won.
(C) Livvi
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
After going to Janice's doll's
tea party in her gran's flat
I thought I'd best ask her to
a cowboy's tea party as a sort
of pay back thing so she came
to my parent's flat and I said
hi glad you could make it she
came in along the passageway
past the kitchen where my
mother was arranging a few
items for the tea and then
turned left into what I termed
the toy room where I'd arranged
a small table(tea-chest upside-down)
and cloth of bright colours
(tea towel) and two small chairs
(large seaside buckets turned
upside down) with cushions
on the sideboard I had arranged
my toy soldiers and guns a rifle
a sword and bow and arrows
and a number of Dinky cars
she said I guess you don't have
any dolls? no no dolls I said
I can borrow one of my sister's
if you want a doll present
I said no it's all right she said
gazing at me smiling weakly
while we were waiting for my
mother to bring in the food
items I showed her my guns
and holsters and she picked up
a silver looking gun and held it
in her hands it's quite heavy she
said is it real? no it's an old one
my old man got me some place
looks real though don't it I said
it's one of my favourites she
lifted it and pointed it at the
wall and pulled the trigger
and the gun went BANG and
she dropped it and put her hands
over her mouth and said was
it loaded? she looked scared yes
it was loaded with a roll of caps
I said sorry I should have warned
you I picked up the gun and put
it back on the sideboard and handed
her my rifle which she held gingerly
is it loaded? she said no it's ok no
caps there I said she put it against
her shoulder and looked along the
barrel and aimed at the light bulb
and pulled the trigger and it went
click and she smiled and said I blew
out the light she gave me back the
rifle and my mother brought in
some items and put them on the
table and said what would you like
to drink Janice? may I have orange
juice please? my mother nodded and
said you Benny? Tizer please with
a shot of red-eye I said my mother
nodded bemused and went off to
the kitchen Janice looked at the items
nice cakes and sandwiches she said
and chocolate biscuits too yes I said
Mum knows you are special to me
so she pulled out all the stoppers
and here we are and we sat and ate
and Mum brought in the drinks
and left us alone to eat and drink
and talk and I told her about the
gunfight in Dodge City and how
I had shot the Billy the Kid Gang
and she sat impressed and told me
about the coming trip to the seaside
with the gospel church and that her
gran had bought tickets and was I
going? and I said yes I was pleased
she was going but tried not to show it.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
They stood inside
Baldwin's herbalist shop
looking around
at the various jars
and bottles
on the side
and shelves
going up high
Helen looked to see
if Benny's arm
had stopped
its imaginary bleeding
it had
so she removed
her girls' handkerchief
from his arm
it's stopped
she said
stopped bleeding
he looked
at his arm
where Jessie James
had shot him
in the gunfight
on Meadow Row
bomb site
so it has
he said
rubbing at
the pretend wound
how can I help you
youngsters?
the man said
at the counter
gazing at them
can we have
two glasses
of sarsaparilla
please
Helen said
to make some blood
as Benny here
was wounded
by Jessie James
in a gunfight off
Meadow Row
bomb site
or it could have been
Frank James
Benny said
I couldn't be sure
in the shoot out
the man nodded
and smiled
and went and got
two glasses
of sarsaparilla
and brought it to them
Benny paid the man
the coins from
his jeans' pocket
and they stood
by the window
and peered out
as they sipped the drinks
other people came in
and were served
some wanting other things
than sarsaparilla
what are you doing
afterwards?
Helen asked
might go to Jail Park
on the swings
he said
can I come too?
she said
of course
he said
if you want to
they sipped
their drinks
in silence
then she said
Betty's arm's broke
it came out
of the socket thingy
how'd that happen?
Benny said
she looked
at the other people
in the shop
my brother did it
swung Betty around
by her arm
and she hit a wall
and the arm
came out
she said
Benny looked at her
shall I try
to mend it?
he said
no Mum said
she'd do it
or get Dad
to do it
when he
comes home
from work
but she told
my brother off
for breaking
my doll's arm
Helen said seriously
Benny looked at her
standing there
in her thick lens spectacles
and her large eyes
gazing at him
and her white blouse
and red skirt
(slightly stained)
so they drank
their drinks
and left
but the other people
in the shop
talked together
and remained.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC