(the poem is fictional, inspired by the photograph only)
The Death of Tom McAllister
Word spread in like wildfire across the eastern plain
that Six-Shot Tom McAllister would soon be back again.
Two years ago he’d ridden on up Batoche way
and some said they had heard in Yellow Creek he’d stayed.
Now, Tom was dark and sinister, lanky, long and lean.
Not a soul would disagree that Six-Shot Tom was mean!
So when the townsfolk heard that Tom was on his way
they shuttered up their windows in the middle of the day.
Champetre County Sheriff waited at the strike of noon
in the dusty streets outside the Howling Coyote Saloon,
and the deputies were waiting, mounted on their horses,
Tom rode with a vengeance, a cloud of dust defined his course.
When gunfire echoed through the town, Tom never had a chance,
Outnumbered three to one, they made their shotguns dance.
The Sheriff took a bullet, but more rang out from all around,
and when the dust was settled Tom lay crumpled on the ground.
february 2003
