Bill
 
Beneath the hat of Wild Bill
was no more than a human.
 
A man of means on a good day,
a predator on a bad one.
 
A pair of shiny pistols
from his waistband were showing
 
as he walked along the boardwalks.
Some men could be heard crowing,
 
"Jimmy, you're a dandy
perhaps too sweet to play."
 
But as he passed beside them
they would deftly look away.
 
They knew he was a pistoleer,
the Prince, who liked a card game.
 
Inside, away from mud soaked streets
the back wall was his safe frame,
'til he no longer scouted after men.
 
When he ended up in Deadwood,
he had fanned his own mythical flame
and like a scripted scene, he died good.
©Steve Dirksen