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Shootout
OK, stranger, make your move!
There must be a hundred bullets in this old gun belt,
One for every time you broke her heart,
Forgot to write, refused to call,
Or simply failed to realize it's
Little things
Which enable love to last beyond
The sunrise.
OK, stranger, make your move!
My weapon of choice is cashier's checks
At forty paces. I've enough here to buy
All the little pleasures and unexpected treats
You've long denied her. This isn't about
Simply money.
The issue is really how much you care
To share.
OK, stranger, make your move!
You thought that ring made you invincible,
That all you had to say was "I do"
And she would. Unceasingly, unquestioning, undeserved.
Perhaps as you finally begin to see her needs,
You'll realize
That only one of us is walking out of here
Alive.
OK, stranger, make your move!
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Copyright © H. Paul Shuch, Ph.D.; Maintained by Microcomm this page last updated 14 June 2007 |
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