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The last Gunfighter

A strange old man stood at the bar

He wore an old black frock coat

And a black Stetson to match

A  rusty gun was strapped to his hip,

He turned and looked straight at me

With a smile and a wink,

He said “buy me a drink.”

He had a scar from ear to ear

That looked like he had a permanent grin,

”So  buy me drink” he said

With a cheeky wink,

He’s the local drunk

Who lives in the past of the old Wild West,

He says he’s a gunfighter the last of his breed,

So buy him a drink and lend him an ear

And he will tell you a tale about is past

When he rode with the best

Jesse James and Billy the kid,

Across the wild west

He’s says he’s a gunfighter the last of his breed

Then he walked to the door and into the street

He looked side to side

As  he goes for his gun

He’s caught by the sun,

Now he lays dead on the ground

A gunfighter the last of his breed

And  a  ghost from the past

Thomas Sims

Tribute to the late Johnny Cash

(February 26, 1932 – September 12, 2003)

 

Sheila

 
 
 
 
In the bar she sat alone
 
Just with her mobile phone
 
She sipped on her happy hour beer
 
And showed signs of fear
 
That he’d let her down again
 
The beer glass began to stain
 
In rings on the wobbling table
 
She stood, unable
 
To move or speak with clarity
 
Life was without hilarity.
 
 
Stephen Holloway.
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