Riding our horses,
We pause in a clearing.
Both of us fearing
To grasp what we’ve done.
The Law, of course is
Constantly nearing.
Time’s disappearing,
Must stay on the run.
Air’s filled with panic,
So I take out a drink.
Take a swig, and I think
Of what is to come.
Juan is Hispanic
Manner’s soft as a mink,
and he chokes on the stink
of his taste of rum.
Juan’s true there’s no doubt.
For years rode with me
Brother in misery
Always had my back.
Then I take my gun out,
Aiming it carefully.
Juan has no time to see
my ruthless attack.
So Juan’s devotion
Was true to the end.
I did shoot my friend
So I might be free.
Filled with emotion,
I drink to pretend
Such actions defend
My own right to be.
akennific 