MY GUNWALE IS STATELESS
I disregard the other guy's mis-statements ; never cared
anyway. Nothing feasible in that crease of cloth, nothing
worth to wear. I don't own a suit. So, there. And now,
in this moment of truth, with the noose around my
neck and me waiting, this black-frocked guy strolls in
with his Bible. There's a bullet hole right through it.
He sits me down. I thought, actually, he should sit, I've
been sitting a long time, and in a few minutes I'll have
my last stand. He starts blubbering over my head - I
swear, crying over the things that I've done and where it's
leading me now. Perdition? I guess that's what he thinks.
I'm a happy warrior, a dead one soon, but so what and so
little cares. My g God's not putting me in tears like this
little weasel preacher-guy who cries and whines about my
lethal indecision. I ain't praying with him, no. Besides, I
got so little time left, I figure I'll be there - wherever
'there' is - before any bits of that prayer will be. And
If I'm not staying, once I arrive, at least I'll get to check
it out. make up my own mind, maybe.
More than this blubbery preacher can say.