A poem about an Outlaw (poised for trouble) in the old west
|Two Days in Silverado
The outlaw Jimmy Thatcher, (J.T.) trailing on his horse,
strode into Silverado with both eyes upon his course.
The townsfolk ran inside their homes for fear of being shot.
The dust from J.T.s horse kicked up; his ragged fur was hot.
Then Sheriff Driscol, being alerted by the county jailer,
took foot outside to see J.T., along with Ned the tailor.
" I sure hope you won't be here long" Bob Driscol meekly said.
Old J.T. just ignored him as he twisted up his head.
Then J.T. stopped across the street to visit Meskers Gin Room;
his horse was cinched up to the post. J.T. spurred in like day doom.
At 2 PM the barman said "I'm sorry friend we're closed."
"Well now you're open"! J.T. stuck a barrel up his nose.
The Barman (squeaking) "on the house" while pouring drink with quiver.
"That's better", J.T. muttered as he hardened up his liver.
"Where's Sally Jane the bar maid? You'd better fetch her fast!"
"If I don't see her flesh down here, this day will be your last."
Slim Sally sauntered in the room, hair tousled on Jim's shoulder.
"How you been doin', bad boy? Been a year now; you look older."
Without response Jim pulled her close and spoke,"go draw my bath."
I needn't tell what happened next, I'm sure you know the math!
Jim didn't sleep a wink that night with a bounty for his person.
With boots still, on he rose, with quite a backache, started cursin'!
He walked outside the Mesker keep, his head felt pretty woozy.
Twelve ounces seven hours ago, and a nestle with his floozy.
Just then a gravel voice called out "I'm gonna take you in."
A Bounty Hunter eager to arrest the outlaw Jim.
"Why did you choose a Sunday, to try and call me out?"
"You know you'll end here in a box; of that there is no doubt."
The sun was hot at 9 AM; the men were staring crazy.
Two hands upon two holsters, but which one would be lazy?
The Bounty Hunter went for broke and quickly pulled the lever.
He missed J.T. who blasted back with aim, alert and clever.
That Sheriff Driscol stood and watched as old Jim fired his round.
The Bounty Hunter bleeding hard, his head upon the ground.
Old J.T then walked over to his foe and shut his eyes.
The rumor is, each man to face down Jim, most surely dies.