the pistolero?

not what you'd think.

laying down in my cold stuffy apartment. the rain dripping and spreading from the ceilings to the cement walls. My hand rested cloes to the gun pointed toward the door. Elmore Leonard novels at my side. Any minute now, i tell my self, any minute now they are going to come busting through that door. Hey thats a good line. I rumage through the trash on the ground finding my pen and paper. Writing that down, "Okay." I lay back down, assuming the position, waiting for them to bust the hinges off the door, sprawling out across the cramped run down room. Guns in hand. God that's great too. I jot it all down. This is all going to make great s**t.

 

First i'll have to come up with a name for this guy. Something hard and tough obviously. I lift up the pistol, .50 written on the side of the barrell. Hey that's good. I'll call him Cal. I rest the gun back down. The boots tight lace at my feet hang off the edge of the bed. And i still lay there, waiting for them, to bust through my door.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

.50 cal is a good hand gun. I have a collection I gather and what my father gathered in his life. My favorite is the 30-30. Range and feel is very good. A excellent poem. Waiting for the last battle like desperados from the days of old.
Coyote