Death In the Afternoon

Outward swing saloon doors, Hanging heavy in the midday sun Where but fools or legends walk Burnt and scarred, World weary The gecko sings Slow, rhythmical, a slow heavy march Whining in the din of midday silence The dust stirs In the saturated air Storm’s coming Out of barred doors The free hurl the damned Face to the dust His last respite Breath is heavy Eyes dead Hope gone He stands The mob gathers And the drums call Resonating the dead wood To fever pitch Sir you stand accused… The accused stares to the heavens Acceptingly The lawman’s drone continues The drums stop as the clouds Form darkly Storm’s here The hammer falls Guilty The drums take up the call As the gecko’s dirge begins The air breaks Rippling across the mob He breathes again in the rain The fools and legends retire Onto wet dust Tramping to the sound of drumming The rope falls.