Gunfight in Futility

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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