Swirling

Swirling

By: James Dubeau

Swirling

Twirling

Spinning

Around the drain

That is a dark lament

Reaching out

Grasping

For a handhold

To pull free

Wanting something

Anything

To click

Turning brass gears

Latch into place

And embrace

While taken for a ride

Across the cosmos

Through time and space

Into the great darkness beyond

Where lights of stars

And whole galaxies

Would only dream

To dare to tread

Background radiation

Drowns it all out

To nothing but

A pleasant

White

Noise

Choking out

A throaty scream

Single-Serving

Single-Serving

By: James Dubeau

Everywhere I go

In my tiny life

Everything must be

Single-serving strife

The coffee

The sugar

Even the cream

And when I do cook

Massive batches are made

Of chili

Stir-fry

Or even pasta

To be divvied up

Into single-serving batches

To be eaten as lunches

Over a week or three

For if I don’t

All the groceries go bad

Siting in the fridge

Waiting to be eaten

But I do like to cook

Honestly I do

And would cook even more

But it is just no fun

To be cooking for one

Dangling

Dangling

By: James Dubeau

Dangling

Just out of reach

Of outstretched arms

My fingertips almost touch

Can almost grasp

Can almost make it mine

But no matter

How I contort my body

My arms cannot stretch any further

It would not be so painful

If I never had the taste

The sweet taste

Upon my lips

Knowing I was almost there

Almost had it

Almost achieved the desire

Once

Makes the craving

All the more

Infuriating

Crossing Paths

Crossing Paths

By: James Dubeau

A few flakes of snow

Drifted past

My fogged over glasses

And frozen white breath

Greens turned yellow

Then to red

And I pushed off

Feet struggled to find traction

Upon my peddles

As my bike rolled

Across the empty crosswalk

I looked up

My vision filled

With a large symbol

Headlights

Grill

Which I once knew well

I stumbled

I peddled

I got out of the way

Movement washed cold wind

Across my face

Clearing fog and improving vision

I turned to see

The flaxen haired motorist

Who hadn’t graced my presence

Since the sun was hot

And Cajun music

Wafted through the air

Our eyes did not meet

She had turned to fiddle

With something in the back seat

The light turned green

And she was gone

But the memories of days gone by

Flooded back

And I wondered if I would ever

Grace the tavern again

To put down money

For beers and the gambling of meat

Our First Laugh

Our First Laugh

By: James Dubeau

As we sit here

On this curb

Sharing our first laugh

We are living moments

The best moments

We’ll ever have

Between you and I

This is as good as it gets

When anything is possible

No annoying habits

No hurt feelings

It’s all downhill from here

Someone will say something

Bitterness will creep in

One of us will be hurt

It’ll all become a chore

Until it is ended

And we go our separate ways

But let us not think about that

The way it always goes

Let’s live in this moment

Live it up while we can

Be happy and joyful

And enjoy this laugh

Before it turns to tears

So Long Space Cowboy

So Long Space Cowboy

By: James Dubeau

Single streak of white

Against the endless azure

As it turns to black

And the starry void

Above and beyond

With you was carried

More than just

2800 tons of rocket fuel

There was also

The hopes and dreams

Of every man, woman, and child

As you bounded across

That hunk of cheese

Even today

Children still dream

Of walking with you

Bouncing with each step

From the Eagle

So with a heavy heart

I must say

To you Neil Armstrong

So long

Space cowboy

Mid Fall

Mid Fall

By: James Dubeau

Footfall after footfall

Against the trail

Running across the countryside

The sun tried to cling to the sky

But slowly fell behind me

Joining leafless trees

And dead prairie grass

Upon the horizon

It is these autumn days

Same days as last year

And the year before that

Which has me wondering

About my place in this world

As I watch those blossoms

Which once had vitality

Wither and die

Under a Sanguine Moon

Under a Sanguine Moon

By: James Dubeau

“That’ll be two fifty.” Lauren said as she grabbed a bottle of beer from behind the bar. Her short red hair was a stark contrast to the black dress and pinstriped suit coat. A single strand of pearls clung tight to her neck and added a splash of coloration to her pale complexion. She patted pockets in search of the bottle opener.

“I got it,” Jonah popped off the bottle top and pocketed the opener. His curled mustache flexed as he winked through horn rim glasses. The pink elephant on his vintage t-shirt seemed to copy the move. He had been drinking and conversing with the bartender all evening.

“You’re the last. It’s closing time.”

“Had to keep my new favorite bartender company.”

“Thank you for the conversation. It has been most appreciated on this slow night. Would you care to join me for a walk when I finish closing up?” She smiled.

“But of course.”

By the time he drained the bottle she had finished the closing duties and had dragged him into the crisp night air. Jonah walked his bike as they walked through the Monroe Street neighborhood. They soon were walking through Forest Hill cemetery. City lights were hidden behind the trees surrounding the old cemetery. A clearing at the top of a hill gave them the opportunity to gaze at the night sky in tranquility.

“I love the sanguine moon when it is bright and big and full of life.” Ruby lips exposed a broad wolfish grin.

“I’m glad you invited me along.” Jonah wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

Lauren locked him in a tight embrace as her lips met his then wandered in lustful flurry across his face and neck. Teeth grazed his flesh. She paused and looked up with large doe eyes which glowed red and mean with hunger. Vampire fangs glinted in the moonlight before sinking deep into his flesh. His blood boiled into her mouth.

Jonah screamed and struggled to free himself. He fished the bottle opener from his pocket and stabbed her side with the pointed end. She reeled in pain, letting him kick free of her embrace. Before she could swoop upon him Jonah was on his bike weaving past gravestones. As he neared the entrance the bike slammed into a gravestone, sending him tumbling from the bike, and destroying the front wheel. He was to his feet and limped into a maintenance shed before the vampire caught up to him.

“Got a little fight in you, I like that.” Lauren pounded on the shed door.

Jonah leaned against the door, bracing against her efforts. He searched for a weapon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She over powered him, knocking the door open. Jonah snatched the first hard object his fingers touched and turned to face his attacker.

Lauren lunged into Jonah, knocking him against the wall. The pair stood face to face, their bodies pressed together. For a moment neither moved. No words were spoken. She took half a step back. A pair of hedge clippers was lodged between her ribs. She blinked once then fell to the floor.

Exhaustion overtook Jonah and he too collapsed. Lauren lay unmoving. Her large eyes had a vacant stare towards the ceiling. He turned to search for a tool to ensure the vampire’s destruction but when he turned around she was gone. Only the clippers remained where she had lay.

Unfinished

Unfinished

By: James Dubeau

What is this

What am I doing

Sitting in the coffee shop

Drinking it black

While tapping keys

Idly working on

One project

Than another

Before losing an hour

Or maybe three

Surfing the web

For this and that

Why is there no focus

Why is nothing finished

Where did it all go

When I was not looking

Did my muse run off

Taking my creativity with her

Did stresses surmount all else
Do I not want to write anymore

Or maybe my creativity never was

Leaving behind all the projects

Pending on my computer

Novel third draft only just started

Short story fourth draft halfway finished

And least of all

This poem

Is not…

Wondering Thoughts

Wondering Thoughts

By: James Dubeau

There are those moves

Which one does make

Late at night

With a belly full of booze

When the internal editor

Is fast asleep at the switch

He could have said

Those choices would result

In nothing but sadness

And changed the course

But he cannot tonight

Not while his snores

Echo though the skull

Reverberating

That dull ache

Just before hangover

So one just sits

Lamenting

Recent decisions

As well as those

From years gone past

Thoughts and memories

Float on past

Tears well from the corners

To be brushed away

And forgotten

Seconds turn to minutes

Minutes turn to hours

Hours turn to days

Days turn to years

Slowly fading away

To be background noise

But there are those times

It all comes flooding back

Making it all fresh again

Like a knife upon the flesh

When all that remained

Was a memory

Or an idea

Of a memory

Which never was

And never will be

Again

Haggard Paladin

Haggard Paladin

By: James Dubeau

Once upon a time

My sword shined in the sun

Strong and sharp

I stood

Waiting for the dragon

To crest the hill

Ready to be slain

But now I sit

Haggard and old

Rust flaked from my sword

The edge could not cut grass

As the dragon flies

High overhead

Breathing down fire and death

Upon all I hold dear 

There is nothing that I can do

But wait

And hope

For an opening

To slay the beast

But it will never come

Before the time

Left in my soul

Melts away

Farmer Driven

Farmer Driven

By: James Dubeau

Big green John Deere

Rolling along

The country side

Traveling paved roads

Slowing traffic behind

A line of cars

Afraid to pass

On rolling hills

Just outside of town

There was once a time

Where this scene did not happen

Before the advent of blacktop

And combustion engines

Fields were not cut up

Divvied up

By what the taxman wished

When the fields were worked

By plow pulled by horse

Or mule

Or oxen

We are all victims of his success

A nation grown fat

Bloated

On bounty filled bread baskets

Us in our automobiles

Pissed off

Him in an air conditioned king cab

Hoping seed prices

Don’t send him under

Dark Past

Dark Past

By: James Dubeau

Why does the dark past

Invoke such nightmares

Upon the soul

And set the mind

Tumbling

Through time and space

Not letting rest

Reach weary eyes

When the night runs long

Mental guards drop

Letting murky ooze

Seep though

Poisoning the mind

Sending it in spirals

Bringing back

Every detail

Every smile

Every laugh

Every thought

Every emotion

Of those days

Long ago

Tearing tenuously healed wounds

Open and raw

Fresh searing pain

Which can only be cured

With more time

Whiskey

And sleep

She Plays

She Plays

By: James Dubeau

She smiles

Blissfully unaware

Of the world around her

Laughing at it all

Seeing life as nothing

But a joke

Even amongst the squalor

The debris

The filth

Even as the lights go dim

When the power is shutoff

Silencing air conditioner

Refrigerator

And TV alike

She was sad

For only the briefest of moments

Before returning to chores

Cleaning the kitchen table

Slowly

One item at a time

Five minutes between each

While scolding the puppy

Who drags her shoes

Across the house

Which should have been put away

Days before

But he keeps tugging shoes

She tries to pull away

With a gleam in his eye

Thinking she’s playing

While she laughs and yells

And perhaps even the dog knows

Behind the mock anger

She truly is

Just playing

Hexed Perseverance

Hexed Perseverance

By: James Dubeau 

Doused in gasoline

The hard black husk

Was ignited

By a single spark

Completely engulfed in flame

Burning bright

Hot

Fast

Until cracks appeared

And opened wide

Exposing

Glowing orange embers

Raw

Molten

Pulsating

Once alive

Full of vigor

Energy

Life

Reduced to nothing

Licking flames

Turn to powdered gray ash

To be blown away

In the slightest of breeze

Forgotten about

Forever

Unrequited Love

Unrequited Love

By: James Dubeau

I walk alone

Along a dusty path

Headed toward the horizon

The desert

Then the sea

And the edge of forever

A land I do not know

A future unsure

She doesn’t know

She doesn’t care

My words go unheard

My gestures unseen

Just as the emerging stars

Twinkling above

Cannot comprehend

My screams

Does it even matter?

Anymore?

Did it ever?

Once before?

But I cannot turn away

Lock her out of my mind

No matter how hard I try

That is how it goes

So I must continue on

With an outstretched hand

Waiting

Wanting

To be filled

By another’s

San Francisco by the Moonlight – Part 3

San Francisco by the Moonlight – Part 3

By: James Dubeau

“Oh how the calf fears slaughter,” Lauren stood over her fallen prey. Her greedy eyes savored her next meal.

“You, you are a vampire.” Murphy stuttered as he grabbed the pickaxe off his pack. He scrambled to his feet and swung wildly with the tool. She leapt back but the steel blade sliced her flesh. Blood did not drip from the gash in her thigh.

“You got a little fight in you, I like that.” Lauren limped as she circled Murphy.

“A wicked beast must be destroyed.” Bravery begun to bubble from Murphy’s intoxicated heart. If she can be hurt she can be killed.

The young man advanced and swung the digging tool. Lauren easily sidestepped the attack and knocked the weapon from his hands. Her fangs sunk deep into his forearm. Blood boiled into her mouth. Searing pain radiated from the bite. He kicked and thrashed, knocking her away. Once free he grabbed the pack and ran from the grave covered hill.

“Your passion and rage tastes of coriander,” Lauren licked her lips. The wound in her leg had disappeared, not even a scar remained. She sniffed the air and pursued the scent of blood.

Murphy ran into the night. He knocked over a gravestone and narrowly avoided the rest. At the base of the hill was one of the few structures in the cemetery, a mausoleum. The door was unlocked and he slipped inside. His shovel worked to bar the door shut.

“You can’t hide all night.” Lauren pounded on the mausoleum door. The old shovel groaned with each impact. A beast of the night could not be held at bay for long.

No escape or weapon could be found inside the bare mausoleum. Only a few dying bouquets and locked burial vaults accompanied him. Murphy dug through his pack for something, anything, to help his plight. A bandage for his wounded arm. A weapon to defend himself with. A tool to reinforce the door.

In a thunderous boom the shovel splintered and Lauren slammed through the door. Murphy snatched the first hard object his fingers touched amongst his supplies and stood to defend himself. She lunged and knocked him against the stone wall.

The pair stood face to face, their bodies pressed together. For a moment neither one moved. No words came to either of their lips.

Lauren blinked and took a half step back. An oak tent stake was lodged into her stomach. It pierced deep into her flesh, angled under her ribs just missing the heart. Feeling real pain for the first time she fell into a heap upon the floor.

Drunken exhaustion overtook Murphy and he too collapsed. Resting against the mausoleum wall he watched the vampire for signs of life while struggling to catch his breath. Lauren lay unmoving on the cold stone floor. Her large eyes stared vacantly towards the ceiling. The monster appeared to be dead but he had to be sure to finish the job. The young man searched his pack for a second stake to hammer into her heart. Once he had hammer and stake in hand he looked up to see that she was gone. Only the oak stake remained on the barren floor.

Murphy’s head pounded when he returned to the tavern the next morning. Ben remembered him from the night before and said the young man had been drinking alone until he stumbled off as an incoherent drunk. The bartender also did not know Lauren and said no woman had ever worked for him. He laughed off the vampire story and bite marks upon Murphy’s arm as nothing but a nightmare and dog’s bite.

As the day wore on the memory of the night’s events faded from Murphy’s mind. Beautiful monsters that lurk in the shadows to hunt young men’s blood did not exist. Vampires were nothing but a bad nightmare. The only niggling reminder of Lauren was the aching pain of twin puncture wounds where her fangs had pierced his flesh. It was a pain which lingered to the end of his days.

San Francisco by the Moonlight – Part 2

San Francisco by the Moonlight – Part 2

By: James Dubeau

Lauren and Murphy had spent many hours talking in sparsely populated tavern near the edge of San Francisco. Candles were all but burnt away by the time they were the only patrons left in the establishment. Ben closed down the tavern and the pair stumbled into the cool night air. Not another soul was out on the moonlit streets.

“I love the sanguine moon when it is bright and big and full of life.” Lauren sighed as she walked arm in arm with Murphy through the deserted streets.

“Man was not meant to gaze up at the sky from the middle of a city. There should be grass under our feet and nothing but the heavens above.”

“I know just the place,” Her red lips opened wide to expose a broad white wolfish grin.

The moon illuminated their journey to the farthest edge of the city. Lauren had grabbed Murphy by the hand and led him through the streets. The inebriated young man was slowed by the heavy pack upon his back. The heavy straps cut into his flesh and he stumbled a few times. It was not long before the pair arrived at the main gates of the Yerba Buena Cemetery.

“We shouldn’t be here so late at night.” Murphy said when they stood before the cemetery.

“Best place in this city to watch the stars,” she danced through the open gateway.

Lauren walked between the graves with a ballerina’s grace. Her large eyes never looked left the heavens. Murphy grew courage and followed. At the top of a small hill they stood together.

“It is so beautiful when the moon and stars sing poetry from the heavens. Tonight makes me feel alive.” Lauren ran her fingers through Murphy’s sandy hair. “There could be no better companion this evening. It was the fates who brought us together.”

“Aye. Who would have thought my first day in San Francisco would have found me standing in the middle of a cemetery watching the stars with a beautiful woman?” The young man leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“I have one more thing to show you.” Her lips met his.

Murphy’s heavy pack dropped as they kissed. Lauren’s tongue darted between her lips to meet his. She locked him in a tight embrace as her lips wandered from his in a lustful flurry of kisses. Her lips were moist upon his flesh. Teeth lightly grazed his neck and nibbled his ear. He returned the passion and found her skin to be cold in the night air.

For a brief moment their passion subsided as they struggled to breath. Murphy lovingly kissed her forehead. Lauren looked up to the man in her arms with large doe eyes which turned red and mean with hunger. A pair of fangs extruded from behind ruby lips.

Murphy let go of the beast and stumbled backwards over his pack. The cold ground rushed to meet him. A scream escaped from his lips.

San Francisco by the Moonlight – Part 1

San Francisco by the Moonlight – Part 1

By: James Dubeau

“I’ve never understood why they call it Irish coffee,” The petite woman standing behind the bar said as she topped off the whiskey filled clay mug with coffee. Her short red hair was a stark contrast to the black dress and pinstriped suit coat she wore. A single strand of pearls clung tight to her neck, a strand which attempted to add a splash of coloration to her pale complexion.

“It’s a drink we created back home to keep the late autumn chill away.” A young man in his late teens said when the bartender slid the steaming mug in front of him. His sing-song voice was soft and cracked under the pressure of her beauty. He sipped the drink and bunched up his freckled covered cheeks in disgust. “Arbuckle and ‘shine is not quite the replacement for our Irish whiskey. Have some cream to sweeten this up?”

“Pouring liquor into coffee is a tradition older than the Irish, makes little sense to name the drink after them. Are you new in town?” She retrieved cream from the icebox and splashed it into his drink. Her doe eyes washed over the stranger. His clothes were a size too big for his emaciated frame, hand-me-downs most likely. He had walked into the tavern with an overloaded pack which he had laid at his feet. Tied to his pack was a shovel and pickaxe, nicked and dented from many years of hard farm work. A look of desperation was in his sunken eyes. It was a longing which she saw upon most men in San Francisco, except for the few who had found their gold rush fortune.

“Boat got in this evening. This drink was just the pick-me-up I needed before finding a place to stay for the night. Come morning I’ll be off to find a chunk of land to call my own.”

“Aren’t you a little young for prospecting? All the best claims are already taken by bigger and meaner outfits. Save yourself from frustration and an aching back and go home.”

“There ain’t nothing in Ireland for me anymore. Potato blight starved us all. I’m here to prove to ma, bless her soul, death is not all life has to offer.” His voice trailed off.

“If you aren’t going to take my advice then I might as well make your first night in San Francisco a hospitable one. It is hard to find a friend for good conversation in this town. Nothing but dirty old prospectors or vile hard frontiersmen and sailors walk these streets. Ben can take care of the few in here tonight.” After nodding to the other bartender she circled around to take up the space next to Murphy. She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Lauren.”

“Pleased to meet you. Murphy is the name.” They shook hands and he blushed.

Dance Becomes Me

Dance Becomes Me

By: James Dubeau

Living on the razor

I step cautiously upon the blade

The knife edge slices into my flesh

Greasy blood trails in my wake

Careful not to slip

Not to fall

To either side

A cough emerges

From my parched throat

Keeping me awake

Though the midnight hours

Not permitting sleep

Peaceful rest

To rejuvenate my body

Hunger aches deep in my belly

My soul cries

With a cracking voice

I can do this

Silent at first

But growing

Stronger

Louder

No longer do I fear

Swirling storm clouds

Or a heaven turned black

Big wet drops plummet

Washing away my blood soaked trail

And razor transforms

To a moss covered garden path

I am drenched from head to toe

Smiling

Dance becomes me

Cross Word

Cross Word

By: James Dubeau

Up and down

Over and across

The rope does tie

It does bind

No more struggling

No more screaming

From the battered and bruised

Locked away

In the dark little boot

As we bounce

Along old dirt trails

In search of a hidden land

For a shallow dug

Deserving resting place

For what was said 

Roulette

Roulette

By: James Dubeau

Click

Soulless days

Spent punching 9 to 5

For a soulless company

Only filling space

Only filling time

Only a number

A lonely cog in the machine

Click

Soulless life

No true friends

To hang out with

Talking about this and that

Being real

Being true

Being there

Click

Soulless love

No one to come home to

To be in love with

No one to cheer for

No one to be cheered by

Empty bed

Empty heart

Click

Soulless home

No family left

Parents are gone

Along with all others

Who bear the same name

Dead and buried

Or left estranged

Click

Go out on a limb

Make an effort

Fill the days

With life and love

And home will sing

Happiness and joy

An overflowing soul

Bang

Slant Ways

Slant Ways

By: James Dubeau

The night before last

When day turned to the

The moon was falling

Slant ways

Shouldn't that orb

Always be rising

When darkness freshly falls

I wish it were so

But no

Luna was setting

In such a way

That made me sad

Behind the trees

Never to be seen

In all her glory

Falling

Slant ways

Tequila – Part 3

Tequila – Part 3

By: James Dubeau

“You can’t burn down my cantina just to kill a couple of train robbers. That building is my livelihood. I’ll be in my rights to bill you for everything destroyed.” Reyes’ voice rang through the shattered window.

“Settle your damn horses,” the sheriff’s words rose above all other noise. “Damages will be paid from the money they stole. We’ll give them some time to surrender before torching your place.”

“Let us ride out of here or I’ll shoot our hostage.” Dave shouted.

“You’ll be doing me a favor. He owes me a lot of money.” Reyes said. “When they murder Owen you will pay off his complete tab, sheriff.”

"That can be arranged." The sheriff said.

“They don’t like you much do they?” Dave pointed his gun at Owen. “How are you doing, Jeff?”

“He’s fine,” Owen poured tequila into his mouth before he shared with Jeff and splashed some upon the wound. “Be careful where you point that thing. You wouldn’t want to accidently shoot your brother.”

“I’ll point this gun wherever I want to.”

“Truth be told, I’m more scared of those men outside. With the money I owe Reyes he’ll plug a hole in me just to get to you and pay off my tab. The sheriff will kill us all.” Owen teetered and fell. His flailing body knocked over a table on his way to the floor. He staggered to his feet and drank from the bottle. “Didn’t lose a drop.”

“I’m not scared of no sheriff.” Dave returned his attention to the exterior. Sweat beaded upon his forehead.

“Be scared for your brother. He’s not walking anywhere.” Owen wobbled to Dave and peered through the window. The sheriff was behind a water trough across the street and held a rifle steady.

“I can ride if you get me to my horse.” Jeff used the bar to pull himself upright.

Owen plopped onto a chair with a heavy sigh. His eyes hung heavy. “I’ve been bending my elbow all day. I’m not sure I could get myself to your horses let alone carry him there.”

Dave tossed a small bag onto the table beside Owen. Gold coins fell through bag’s mouth. “That’ll give you some strength and pay for your services. If you falter I will shoot you before Reyes does.”

“Should be enough for what I owe.” Owen pocketed the bag and lurched to Jeff. He let the bandit support his weight on his shoulder and the pair staggered to the door. Owen took one last drink off the bottle of tequila in his hand. “For courage,” he told himself.

“When I kick open the door, get to the horses.” Dave turned to the entrance and thumbed back his hammer.

Owen swung with the bottle, catching Jeff in the face, and grabbed the revolver out of the falling injured man’s hand. Dave turned as Owen pulled the trigger. The large man crashed through the door and fell to the boardwalk outside.

“What have I done?” Owen sunk to his knees.

“You did a brave thing.” The sheriff had rushed into the cantina. Reyes and the deputies were not far behind.

Tears streamed down Owen’s face. Shattered glass and tequila was strewn across the floor. “My tequila has gone to the great siesta in the sky.”

Tequila – Part 2

Tequila – Part 2

By: James Dubeau

“He’s plumb soaked.” Jeff’s voice was labored. “I’m bleeding out. I’m going to die.”

“A belt of whiskey would cut the pain. He must have hidden that bottle good,” Dave said. Heavy boot-steps upon wood floor boards crossed the cantina. A revolver barrel scraped against a leather holster and tapped against window glass. “That rat is coming back with the sheriff and a couple deputies.”

“Get out of here. Leave me to die.”

“No brother of mine will rot in prison.” A window shattered and a revolver’s bark filled the cantina. “Look at them run,” Dave laughed.

“I’m not going to make it long enough to rot,” Jeff said. A chair slid across the floor followed by Jeff who hit the floor hard and loud.

Boots thundered across the cantina. Owen’s chair was suddenly no longer beneath him, his head cracked off the floor. Dave’s words were fast and furious. “See to my brother. If he dies, you die.”

Owen blinked in the dim cantina light. Pain seared across his skull. The spinning room slowly focused on the barrel of Dave’s gun. The unblinking black eye in steel provided Owen more than enough encouragement to move. He stumbled to his feet and joined Jeff.

“You better do what he says. Once he gets to something he’ll finish it through.” Jeff struggled with each word. His belly wound seeped across alkali dust caked clothing. A revolver hung loose in his grasp but remained trained upon Owen.

“I don’t aim to die today,” Owen said equally as slow. He tore Jeff’s shirt and revealed purple flesh marred by torn muscle and blood. The drunk washed blood away from the wound with a bar rag and bottle of tequila. Jeff yelped in pain.

“You livin’?” Dave brought his revolver to bear on Owen.

“It hurts.” Jeff managed through clenched teeth.

“He’s livin’.” Owen slurred.

“Throw out your guns and come on out or else we’ll gun you down.” The sheriff’s voice boomed from outside the cantina.

Dave responded to the sheriff with gunfire then added, “Come on in for our guns.”

“No can do, cowboy. I’ll burn you in the fires of hell first.”

Tequila – Part 1

Tequila – Part 1

By: James Dubeau

Tequila in the afternoon creates a different kind of drunk.  It does not make one hot and want to fight like whiskey does. It does not just give a good beer buzz. The only thing a tequila drinker wants to do is lounge away from the sun.

That was the mood Owen was in that afternoon. He leaned his chair in shadows against the wall in Reyes’ cantina with a hat pulled over his eyes. A mostly empty bottle of tequila was upon the table. Flies buzzed near his head, keeping him on just this side of consciousness. Reyes watched his only patron while he wiped glasses clean.

Owen didn’t budge when the sound of thundering hooves filled the cantina. Soon a pair of men bashed through the door. One pair of boots pounded across the wood floorboards, the other was softer and accompanied by labored breath. Dust from a hard ride on the trail floated on tiny air currents and reached Owen’s lips.

“Whiskey,” the heavy man said at the bar.

The thud of a bottle hitting the counter followed by clinking glasses filled the room. Reyes’ voice wavered. “All I got is tequila.”

“I’m dying, Dave.” The other man wheezed.

Liquid splashed into glasses. Dave threw back his drink and his glass shattered on the wood floorboards. “You drink this coffin varnish? We got money for good stuff. All you shop keepers have a private bottle and it better be whiskey.” Coins jingled across the counter.

“Sure thing boss. I got something good out back.” Reyes’s footsteps carried him from the room and were silenced behind a shutting door.

“They got me good. I can’t ride no further.”

“You can’t hang up your fiddle, Jeff. After a rest we’ll hit the trail again. Not too much further before we are free in Mexico. Just think of all that money we have. That’ll keep you going.”

“That railway man surprised me. He put a hole clean through me. He killed me.”

“You Squabashed him good. He got what he deserved for trying to stop us.” A metal click cut the silence in the cantina, the hammer on a revolver had been cocked. “Who are you?”

Owen’s tequila soaked brain refused to be fully woken from his siesta. In the state he was in he would not have moved for God let alone for a pair of armed bandits. The threat of death was just a welcomed release from life.