Armageddon Closing In

Leaning on the fence post

Squinting against the sun

He spat on the ground

Fondled the ivory on his gun.

Dust rising in the distance

Rusted barbed wire sky

Standing by the word of God

Armageddon drawing nigh.

Lit a cigarette, said a prayer

Stetson low to shield the sun

Tension in the hot dusty air

Never thought to turn and run.

Kean ears hear a motor rev

His daughter’s boyfriend’s car

Comes driving up the winding road

Draws his gun, puts a bullet in a tire.

Turns silent on his boot heels

Saunters back down the lane

Sits down on the front porch

With a grin, he’d do it again.

2010 © Dayvid Graybill