The Gunfight

By Stone Bryson

A glance into the mirror, with the truth boiling inside,

I gave my wife and son a kiss, and I knew it was good-bye.

Nine long years had passed… but I found where he was now,

I rode to where I’d find him… time to plant him in the ground.

I walked into the roadhouse, where I’d learned he liked to play,
the coward who shot my father, in the back while turned away.
I scanned across the entire room... then I saw him sitting near,
slumped drunk over a table... downing shots of liquid cheer.

I consumed a searing anger, as I looked into his face,
the vendetta burdened so long, smoldering at this disgrace.
Knowing that I may fall this night… can’t ignore an honor-demand,

I hope someday the ones I love… will forgive and understand.

I knew my Glock ready, so my dad would be redeemed,

what I had waited so long for, escaping from my mind and dreams.

I stood within his line-of-sight… and as I looked him in the eye,
he knew just who I’d come for... and he knew exactly why.

With a quickness that surprised me, he arose with hand toward hip,
I did the same with pleasure... as my fingers touched the grip.
Saw the barrel of his pistol… it cleared his holster fast as light,
as I hoped my draw was quick enough... two shots ripped through the night.

I staggered from the impact, as the pain spread shoulders-wide,
a single tear of failure, while the piece fell to my side.

My knees begin to buckle… couldn’t hold myself upright,

that bastard’s smile was frozen… as despair shot through my sight.

As my lids began to falter, and with my spirit going flat,

I saw the slightest curl of smoke, from a hole within his hat.

When I watched him crumble lifeless… and his final breath release…

I laughed in triumph - justice served - I could finally rest in peace.

Copyright © 2008 Stone Bryson.  All Rights Reserved.

Written February 2008

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