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The Man from Vigilante County

by Curt Allday






































"He was a cowboy out from that booming gold rush, San Francisco,
which didn't mean much to us
as, afterall, we weren't quite sure
what kind of place it was to begin with.
Most likely full of the
crass and dissheveled;
liberal good for nothings trying to save all them
bears we killed, who filled the night
with the screams of our lambs and sheep.


Folks who should have noooooooo
right to vote or peep
their eyes around the good graces
of the noble south, beloved and cherished
by God Himself!

"See, they litter our great state with the
mirage of a princely affair,
while we stare into their disguise and never
complain or glare.
They have the taste and refinement of a pauper's
scene and tact, and they will sneak off
only to pack their suitcases with the Aztecs'
long lost gold, not payin a cent to
our great nation, 100 years now old!


Oh yes, my friend, the devil is alive and well.

"But let's make our way back
to the intentions of this story! Hell,
it has to do with the glory of a
valiant gunslinger
dressed like the archangel
himself waiting to slaughter God
on the very day he was meant to judge.
With boots lined with the pearls of vengeance,
still he was covered with it,
from the top of his
spider silky hair
down to his boots
with the silver spikes
and elephant tusks for toes,

sir, i tell you,

he was bad to the bone.

"My friend, this man would go right up
and just about throw
every good for nothing coward from
the comfort of our bars,
and so you probably ought to know,
he'd fall on a knife
to save your goddamn soul!
A very complicated man, I know,
and so why did we leave?
Go on down there and you'll see,
off to the scene of the crime, where
all of time seemed to freeze,
like the frozen over steam
erupting from the screams
of their rigid, curling mouths

with their pistols appearing out
from the cover of their shrouds
with eyes of fury they had
flaming, golden dragons
shooting across the blizzard
painting the landscapes
a nice shade of milky way
way
way off behind the trail of smoke
out from their Colt 45's
their wrath was denied by
the snow of Vigilante County's great fury
hurling towards their chapped, flaking lips
like pips in an apple
like our old hens with Groucho grins,
he proceeded to lay out a group of about ten
with nothing more than his gun and a pin
that once said sherriff
but now a-days reads- it reads:

"Vigilante County"

I mean, he was damn near mayor of that whole city
even with a bounty on his head
from every gang from Texas to the Midwest, ya know, the lot
who sang 'Dandy Jim of Caroline'
after each train was utterly sublime,
they robbed and offered no clemency!
Robert, they have no common decency.
Yet somehow, they are a piece of me,
after witnessing that gruesome display three days old.

I muttered upon entry, "Someone should say a few words,"
but no one could speak.
We all knew who these men were,
they were the very ones who would sink their
tarry teeth into a piece of our pie.

"Why, you ask? Well, it was the supplies
we were carrying along with the miracles
we were moving with the
glittering grains of mystery
and all science
a new kind of science
kind of like the
silence that held us up
as we moved their bodies
into the ditches
long ago dug, what only a few hundred
days ago? Because the man from Vigilante County
knew damned well
these boys would have the audacity
to show up.

"And so there he sat,
a map of misfortune and revenge, with
the deeds of that day
left only in stains of red
spread all over his face, hands, and clothes,
that would not be spared,
it covered his eyes
his pupils becoming sunsets
crimson colored mirkats scuttering
below the hillside, moving around
to the sound of him breathing,
which catching my attention, and
not to mention, but
he's been there the last 3 days,
ever since,
staring off into the direction of where
he shot, point blank,
the man with the scarred right cheek.

So that day, we go and take a peek.

And yep, he's dead, deader than any man you ever
seen.

Again, we said nothing, as he did not answer
our conversations.
He was icy and catatonic,
harboring loaded guns strapped
to every part of his body.
I'm sure he had some words
he probably thought he should have said.

But it's sad, really, that there
gunslinger from San Francisco,

Vigilante County,

only a few hours ago,
pointed his 45 up to his head,

and now, quite frankly,

he's dead.

So go on ahead, you get the next round."

10/05/2006

Author's Note: written with the image of a gunslinger, who killed 10 men, then dealing with the horrors he created, ended his own life- as told by a western cowboy at some saloon- part of my Tales from Beyond the Galactic Fog series visuals added- 10/12/06

Posted on 10/05/2006
Copyright © 2024 Curt Allday

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Leslie Ann Eisenberg on 10/14/06 at 08:40 PM

i do so love a poem told in character, and you do that so well, with the language of the time, and even the folklore, ala paul bunyan tall talin' -- elephant tusks for toes. you have the voice down. very effective, extremely engaging. glad to hear this is part of a series.

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