Saddle bags filled with crackers and peanut butter.
It was an ambush, waiting in the
foot hills of the White mountains.
The outlaws rode hard and fast,
leaving the criminals in the gritty;
those that were stealing personal values.
Stripping beliefs and belongings,
scouring the landscape
for those cutting a different path,
trying to escape their understanding.
The officials, expecting early retirement,
were waiting for them. They, tired of the ride,
guns loaded with innuendo, censured, embellished,
as sordid as history would allow, opened fire.
The outlaws rode hard and fast
towards something they believed in.
But they knew, tomorrow would never last.
Bushwhacked yesterday, (poor bastards
were trying to veer off a different path.
Heading north, through the Lakes Region),
they were caught in surprise.
Caught! Being alive! Some shot in the back!
‘Cause there was no one who could ride by her side
through the volley, under fire, she kept her eye
ahead of their aim. Galloping by “We can shoot back” she said.
Oh crap! Giddy-up!
It’s now, only her and I…
as I was thinking,
stacking wood after splitting it,
for this winter.