A drifter rides into the town,

Soft-spoken and quite roughly dressed;

His smile and manner win him friends,

Three others are far less impressed.


While he relaxes at the bar,

They gather, spoiling for a fight.

The plain folk start to peel away;

This is a match of wrong and right.


He swigs his drink and spins around;

He picks off one from either side.

The last man standing turns to flee,

But now there is nowhere to hide.


With one last gasp, he bites the dust;

The townspeople can live in peace.

As long as this state is maintained,

The drifter’s contract here will cease.

◄ UK Nul Points

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 29th May 2021 17:16

Wow, John. That only leaves two options for me.

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John Coopey

Sat 29th May 2021 07:26

Jim Dale, Stephens? Not me! I would always be The Ugly.

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 28th May 2021 17:12

My thanks to everyone who liked the poem. Yes, Stephen, I'm much closer to Jim than Clint as well, which is probably best for everyone. The tumbleweed is very evocative, Philipos. All comments much appreciated.

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Stephen Atkinson

Thu 27th May 2021 22:36

I always fancied myself as Clint Eastwood in High plains drifter, but, sadly, I'm more like Jim Dale in carry on cowboy 🤠


Thu 27th May 2021 18:40

Am with you on this one, and the tumbleweed being buffeted around outside.



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Stephen Gospage

Thu 27th May 2021 18:26

I am fascinated by the image of the drifter in the Old West. A man with a mysterious past and an unknown future riding into town, liberating the people from tyranny in a showdown and then riding away again, almost without comment. Just doing what has to be done, albeit in a violent way.

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