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A sure shot, he sets up a can, and digs his heels in the sand,
with feet spread, a hat on his head and gun in 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.
(Monorhyme)
Mar.22, 2018
Rhyme Battle X: Showdown - Poetry Contest
Juli- Michelle
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
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