the terror comes back sometimes,
cocky, swaggering, like it owns this town.
when i feel it i hide,
bolt behind the saloon, peek out
through the slatted swinging doors, i let
it stay as long as it wants.
but someday. someday soon,
i will see the dust rising beneath its boots,
i will feel its shots, feel pain, and i will
get up, plant my feet, cock back
the hammer and stand firm.
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