He set up shop out on the edge of town.

Not with a hammer or anvil or a cold piece of steel.

But rather with pen and paper, 

and with ample light in which to write.

Books lined the walls 

stacked from floor boards

to ceiling tall. 

There were some with his name to be sure

which he proudly displayed.

 Still others were so well known

that even the simplest nave knows their names

At times he  staying up half the night, 

sometimes longer

hunting for his allusive prey,

Oh not with a gun or bow or a  sharp arrow, mind you 

But setting for hours none the less

 being ever vigilant,

 waiting for just the right allusive word

 to sunder out

 all doe eyed

and cute .

 Then bang he’s got him.

Then came that fateful day 

when Black Bard

ride in from down Albuquerque way. 

He was the quickest wordsmith around

and he was looking for easy prey.

Mark my words on this day

words will fall,

pencils will be broken, 

and ink spilt.

It was high noon 

when the two squared off in the 

center of town.

Black Bard took the upper hand 

his words came fast and true

almost every one hit their mark

our hero was reeling and covered in ink

but he had one last trick up his sleeve 

Oh ,it wasn’t an ace or king

as you might think,

No, it wasn’t any of those things

but quick as an wink

just before he hit the ground

he spun around and hit him

with an adjective or two

and floored him with a noun.

Black Bard left that town, never to 

return.

Our hero still writes 

sitting by a window with ample light

and books stacked from 

floor boards to ceiling. 

By David Painter

From: United States