Western Wednesday: Some Drinks Cost More


The bat-wing doors still swinging, there he stood,
A stranger, new in town, a mystery
On two legs, prob’ly up to nothing good.
The barkeep murmured “Who the hell is he?”
But someone knew, and reached down for his gun —
Just patted it, to make sure it was there.
“Pour me a whiskey,” quoth the stranger. “Son–,”
The barkeep said. “No, podner, don’t you dare,”
The stranger interrupted. “I am not
Your son, nor anybody’s here. Relax.
I’m here for information.” Then a shot
From outside on the street turned all the backs
To fronts, the better for all there to view
The stranger’s death. “The next one might be you.”


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