BEASTLY TALES

SHINBONE BLUES

“Shinbone” the name of a Wild West town,
Of some notoriety, little renown.
There resided a gunslinger, with attitude,
Taking offence at even a platitude!
Feeling affronted at an imagined slight,
His antennae immediately wanted to fight.
And so, out on the muddy street,
He, his adversary, would strut out to meet.
Their hands hovering over the butts of their guns,
Inclination towards fear, giving them the runs.
A hand makes a dart to the gun butt,
A shot rings out, doors slam shut.
One of them drops to the ground,
Crimson colouring shirt as he drops down.

The undertaker, summoned by a call,
Looked for the victim, where he did fall.
Turned up quickly, for that was his job,
And stood looking down at the now dead slob.
“So nice of you to get yourself shot,”
“Burying gunslingers, I don’t like a lot!”
“They’ve never contributed to a funeral plan.”
“They must think I’m a philanthropic man!”

He hastily felt through the deceased’s pockets.
Two silver dollars, and some gold lockets.
“Barely enough to lie in Boot Hill,”
Third class, of course, but it sure gives me a thrill.
“Plenty of nutters so don’t feel alone,”
“Just like you, to risky behaviour they’re prone!”