Gunfight in Futility
By JPYoung
Over cold mountain ranges,
Across the hot desert sands,
Some find there’s nothing strange as
When one falls for what one stands.
*
Out West lies a nowhere town,
Futility is its name.
Not renown…nothing went down,
Until two lone strangers came…
*
The drifter rode from the north,
The saddletramp from the south,
From the saloon wrath came forth…
‘You’re in my chair!’ ‘Shut your mouth!’
*
‘Get outta town ‘fore sundown!’
‘What I said, I knowya heard!’
‘I’ll gunya down, if you’re ‘round!’
The small issue was absurd!
*
Two madmen meet, in the street.
Their audience made them bold.
Loud dumb words with threats replete,
‘Run now! Orya won’t grow old!’
*
Both drew quick in the gunfight,
Two guns made only one sound.
Gun flashes bright, lit the night.
Both were shot, one hit the ground,
*
Dying slow, he shot once more.
To the standing man’s head,
Last roar from his forty-four…
Both lay in the street stone dead.
*
Heroes to small boys and punks,
They died for childish games,
Retold by barflies and drunks.
But none in town knew their names…
*
For pride, two lives were blown.
In the graveyard of Futility,
Buried together ‘Unknown’.
Out of kind civility…
FIN
Author Notes: Viva Tasmania!
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