He rides slowly into town and dismounts
In front of Our Blessed Savior’s Rest Mission.
He glances around town and quickly counts
Six gunslingers. Thank God for ammunition!
He slides his rifle from its saddle holster
And loads bullets into its magazine,
Then chambers one with the lever. It bolsters
His courage when the “chak” is quick and clean.
Before the firefight starts, the friar comes out
Carrying a big box. “Greetings, my son,”
He murmurs. “Let me help. Many devout
Men have died at their hands. God bless our guns.”
The box drops. Two Colts and one rifle judge
The quick and the dead. The street runs with blood.