The Gunslinger

A Poem by Michael Keene

An ode to one of my favorite genres: the western.

Dust is curling around the Gunslinger's legs
The sun is glinting across his barrel
Locked and loaded
Boots tight
Face wet
The Man in Black is coming
Be ye warned!
Nothing is more crucial
Than those angel eyes' guidance
Peering into the Man's Black soul
Spurting hellfire
Crying smoke...
Cave men and gladiators
Revolutionaries and the sea's voyagers
They had their trials
They had their rituals
They had their obsessions
But this is it for the Gunslinger
The dust is still curling and the sun still glinting
Always the same
When waiting
The Man in Black still coming
Walking steadily down the line
Waiting to fire
Patiently
Nothing can prevent that final
fiery Battle.