Saturday, 26 October 2013

The tale of Mescal and Pistach (a cowboy ballad in concrete form) Verses 1 to 8

To be viewed on a computer - blogger distorts the layout on a phone or iPad!


Verse 1. The Widowmaker

  Mescal
 the widowmaker, riding a bay; Pistachio on a palominO.
 The sky is grey, coming into town,
  and a light Nebraska
    drizzle's fallin   g
   down. The   y
  dismount
 to look
 around.



Verse 2. Panhandle

  Horses stand and creak the leather
          on the panhandle, bleak under
                                          the yoke of the weather.
                                             Shying at far thunder,
                                               straining their girth.
                                               In mud. Rutted mud,
                                              which once was earth,
                                              ready to receive blood.




Verse 3. Swing Doors


    Saloon                            swinG
     doors flap a            nd shiver
     in a cold Chi      nook breeze.
     Senses tense      like a quiver
     of arrows rea    dy for release.
     Steps ache fr    om the harsh
    seasons. Men     come and go
  With no disce       rnible reasonS.




Verse 4.  Cards


                                                   4
                                               spades
                                            slide over
                                          the felt table.
                                        Bourbon flows
                                    to all those still able.
                                  Reek of sweat and piss
                               stains the air and now this:
                             Mezcal    the  widow   maker.
                              Pistach  the  trouble  maker.
                               Under         the         table
                                                 hands
                                                handle
                                                 guns.




Verse 5.  Trouble brewed


                               

                          If you're
                         intending
                         on troubl
                         e, with all
                         due respe
                        ct Sirs, ple
                        ase hit that
                        trail and mo
                      ve on down it.
                   we're peaceloving
                 folks and ain't got no
               desire to see no change
              in this town. So we'd all
             be mighty appreciative if
            you'd just turn around and
            go back down under whate
           ver Godforsaken rocks you
           crawled out from...Not that
           I wish to be unwelcoming to
           men down on their luck but,
           and how can I put this so as
           not to cause offence, you got
           all the appearance of shit you
           smell like shit and by God we
           know  trouble when we see it
           and you Gentlemen got it writ
           all over your filthy god damn
           faces. Now am I being crystal
           fuckin clear? Don't think twice
           don't even think about it once,
           just get the fuck off outta her!



Verse 6.  Time

                    
           You coulda heard a roach scuttle
                 across the  sawdusty  floor.
                   The breeze creaked and
                    rattled the loose hung
                     saloon doors.  There
                       might have been a
                        second when the
                         world just froze
                           and even pas
                            sing insects
                               stopped
                                to look
                                 TIME
                               may not
                            after all  be
                       constant, reliable,
                    unmalleable by events.
                The overwhelming gulf of
             an instant, a glacial blink. The
          grains hold in the neck waiting for
       instruction. Cause and effect. And that
   command is a 'CLICK'. Hammers pull back
 to show the view  of  the abyss from the brink.


Verse 7.  Bullet


I take your point sheriff: agreed we sure ain't looking so good!
But know this, we ain't here fer no trouble, just a bed fer the night,
the weather looking fit to set in bad, and I'm sure bein' a decent man you
wouldn't put two hard time drifters to the track on a stormy night like this?
For sure, y'all got the better of us, you being many and we being just two
tired riders on a stony broken road - who ain't got it in 'em to fight,
like I telled you before.. I ask you to reconsider, if you would?


Verse 8. Conflagration


       I'd        like             to            say             they                       sat                         down        
     to        play       cards         and    drink      whisky        in  a   spirit       of       brotherly    love          but         you         knew       it       wouldn't     go          that   way      already,       didn't      you?
     
  Suffice    it           to         say       the       Sheriff           was      unyielding         being          that        he'd              seen              the             like                 before.              Mescal       and        Pistach    knowing         they            were     outgunned       stepped       back   to    the wind        and   rain.
Did          they        quietly     ride off        out       of      town    heads  down      and   hunkered    to    the   storm?    Of   course.     Did         they          then          return          at four in      the     morning with     fuel,   several      sticks       of           dynamite   and a     box of    matches to   set an unholy conflagration?   Did dawn  in that  shithole  town resemble a   new morning in hell?     Of course.


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