Billy the Kid you can’t hide out
inside yourself forever.
Beautiful
twisted killer,
shoot a man dead for looking at him wrong,
even a couple of women some said,
in cold twisted blood
as if the flat burning path of a bullet
straightened anything out.
Sheriff Pat Garrett gunned Billy down
on the dark porch of a bordertown cabin
where Billy, knife in hand,
had gone outside to slice a steak
from a hanging slab of venison,
leaving his lady for the night
asleep inside.
Garrett calling his name just before he pulled the trigger–
“Billy”–
calling him softly.
In the book Garrett wrote about it
he claimed Billy’s last words were “¿Quien es”
(“Who is it?”)
though he privately told his drinking buddies
the real last words of Billy the Kid
were “Ah, shit!”
but the Sheriff hadn’t wanted to offend
genteel readers.
“Billy.”
Called his name softly out of the darkness
then blew him away.
The knife clattering on the porch.
The heavy, glazed mass of the deer meat
swaying in the cool night air.
The woman inside beginning to scream.