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Just Another Movie

And the hero tips back his hat,
leans in his chair,
puts his hand on his gun,
kicks over the table,
hurls the vilain through
saloon-bar glass
shoots him down
dead
shoots straight his
head
drops him down
dead.

And the villain’s last shot,
wildly mis-aimed,
comically untamed,
strikes the piano player in the back.
And the hero mounts his horse,
rides
away into the gathering dusk.

And the barman, with shaking hands,
begins to sweep the glass,
the glass that cuts the feet,
that maims the horses,
that costs so very much.

And the woman cradles the weeping child,
who will wake, screaming,
from all that blood
that soaks the street,
that sprayed the wall.

And the pianist writhes on the floor,
crying out the agony
of lost income, music, joy.

And the hero mounts his horse,
rides
away into the gathering dusk.