Archive
06/23/09 - (2)
Ultimate Sacrifice
None too soon but sooner than not soon enough, I'll have gotten out of Dodge, Cicero, Little Italy, Rock Ridge, Just in time to avoid being shot in the head, by Wyatt Earp,
Riddled to death, by Billy the Kid, the James-Younger Gang, Or, if not, by Doc Holliday, "Pretty Boy" Floyd, "Legs" Diamond, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, John Dillinger, Lili Von Shtüpp,
Al Capone, Bruno Tattaglia, Don Vito Corleone, His sons Fredo, Sonny, Michael, and consigliere Tom Hagen, Arnie Rothstein, Meyer Lansky, and their crony Bernie Madoff.
But if Dodge City proves to be my potter's field, my bought farm, My pushing-up-daisies place, I'll do my bushwhacking best, Before I die, biting Scaramanga's golden bullet,
The Lone Ranger's Silver, Tonto's Jay Silverheels, To bribe His Majesty's Secret Agent Orange, James Bond, Into loaning me his death-defying/-denying/-defoliating gadgets,
So that I might escape, once and forever, for all, amen, etc., The ultimate sacrifice, the last hurrah, the final cattle drive, Stay alive after the fabled spray of bloodthirsty bullets subsides,
Be it at a lonely, mid-'40s New Jersey toll plaza, Just outside a mid-'30s Chicago theater called the Biograph, In spitting distance of Tombstone, Dead Gulch, and Hangin' Tree,
When law was enforced by whichever marshal, evil genius, Bank robber, wop hit man wore the most bodacious six-guns And life lasted as long as the twitch of a hair trigger.
Tonight, assuming I escape from imagination's showdown, I'll be among the few lucky (if not so innocent) bystanders Who survived by his spectacular lack of wits, if not wit.
But if 007 won't lend me Q's grab bag of whiz-bang gizmo-tricks, Then I'll just have to resort to my ultimate sacrifice, Die beside Ernst Stavro Blofeld, nuking the O.K. Corral.
06/23/09 - (2)
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