The Gunfight

I have seen the touch of men
tarnish more than a days worth
of hard earned silver.
There’s a sheriff in town you know.
They say he eats bullets for breakfast
and draws faster than a mousetrap
coated in peanut butter.

That’s what they say,
but I don’t believe it.
Words start the nastiest fights
in these parts. They really do.
Tobacco lingers just beneath the wind,
a kid cries in her mother’s arms,
her daddy might die today.

When it goes down
no one hears the bullet fly,
not even the old gunfighter in his chair.
That is because there wasn’t one
the evidence is in the splatter.
Without honour the game is simple:
knives are no strangers to gunfights.

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