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Two-Fisted Nightmare

by Rita Webb
2002
A two-fisted nightmare on a bus from Houston,
Loaded sawed-off shotgun, no handle on what's real,
Prodded by the demons, mostly imagined,
Hallucinating madly, vengeance with a zeal

A schizophrenic drifter, he blows into Cowtown,
Midnight, early August, ex-girlfriend to find.
Taps lightly on her window, smiles tentatively.
Not surprised to see him, he's been on her mind.

She goes to the back door, not ready for a bullet,
But his name's been written, saved in MS-Word.
He fires pointblank, the buckshot goes right through her,
Takes her out with one blast, his power averred.

A blood-red Camaro, stolen for the highway,
Her ghost riding shotgun in every car he's passed.
One glance into the rear-view, Devil hot-pursuing
In a Chevy pickup, red claws on the dash.

Sometime tomorrow morning, someone will find her
Note on her computer, the madman's fate to seal.
Houston pawnshop ticket, no clemency for madness;
In Huntsville, six months later, the chair with no appeal.

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