Showdown
A sure shot, he sets up a can, and digs his heels in the sand
feet spread, a hat on his head, a gun in his hand: he looks grand.
Cloudy skies shade the sun from his eyes, letting him aim as planned:
and that can, flew apart, just like he knew it would, beforehand.
His friend wants to end their partnership, he said as much, offhand:
a showdown’s coming; it'll all come down to who's quick of hand.
Their morels a hoax: they rob folks and sell stolen contraband
and hide their cash in the wetlands, stashing their loot in quicksand.
Two of the roughest, toughest gringos north of the Rio Grande
stand ready to test how much pain the other man can withstand.
Their shared desire to fire... will send one man to the promised land:
this is life and death, final breath, well beyond a reprimand.
They're fighting for reasons neither man can quite understand:
it's all about ego, and which gunslinger is in command.
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