The Standoff....

The dust from the sandstorm hasn’t quite settled down,

and I find myself staring into a set of brown, steely eyes.

I wait for the nearby clock to chime, as mechanical as a clown,

as the widow of the previous battle’s loser cries.   

Sweat runs down my sunburned neck,

and my faded hat flutters in the gale.

There is no prize in this duel, least of all a cheque,

And nobody here goes to jail.

I flick open my gun holster, as the clock is about to reach nine,

and for assurance, slowly feel the hilt of my trusted old “Colt”.

Suddenly my senses kick into gear, now is the time to shine

my eyes narrows, and the local pub’s door creaks from its rusted bolt.

I hear the clock hands move one last time,

and notice my opponent’s hands move.

The clock was yet to let out its chime,

and I was totally out of the groove.

There was a loud bang of a gun.

and I realized it wasn’t mine.

I find myself falling down, my eyes locked on the sun

slowly feeling drowsy and sleepy, as if I had just drunk wine.

My eye lids start to slowly close,

my body gets completely froze

My “Colt” was still in my hand,

and there was my blood all over the sand.