"...she said, 'that is my ex-boyfriend...
and he’s looking for a fight.'"
It was a crisp autumn evening,
in 1988,
I picked up my new girlfriend and
we went out on a date,
she really loved the oldies and
she wanted to get down,
so I took her to a club...
in that Missouri town.
We walked into the building and
the place was wall-to-wall,
the smell of sweat and passion was
like Gomorrah’s final call,
we found ourselves a table while
we ordered our first rounds,
we listened to the DJ...
and those classic rocking sounds.
Then she begged me to the dance-floor, but
I needed courage first,
I threw back a shot of Jose just
to satisfy my thirst,
two more got me smiling, and
the fourth was heavenly,
the fifth and sixth took me...
where I needed to be.
The music was really popping - Jerry
Lee was playing loud,
we were tearing up the floor when
a face moved through the crowd,
my girlfriend froze where she was - her
face went snowy white,
she said, “that is my ex-boyfriend...
and he’s looking for a fight.”
I turned around to look at him and I
understood her fear,
that motherfucker looked nine feet tall - his
anger was quite clear,
we went back to our table and
pretended not to see,
that asshole coming toward us...
his eyes bore in on me.
He towered over both of us, then
much to my surprise,
he tried to kiss my girlfriend right
before my very eyes,
with Jose as my sidekick I
stood up to face him down,
he struck me in the jaw...
and knocked me to the ground.
I charged at him once again - we
were scrapping through the bar,
tables, chairs, and bottles went
crashing near and far,
a posse of angry bouncers stepped
in to end the fight,
they dragged us to the doors...
and out into the night.
I gathered up my bearings and
prepared for my next move,
when I saw him drop a knee and
reach just above his shoe,
he pulled a gun he had stashed in
a holster ankle-high,
he drew on bead on me and said...
‘now you’re gonna die.’
I slithered like a snake, just
to misdirect his aim,
I was able to get on him just before
he shot his game,
we struggled for the pistol like
it was our final stand,
when we fell to the ground...
the gun was in my hand.
I stood up very quickly and
he charged me once again,
I shot him in the stomach, then
stood proudly over him,
his eyes were filled with shock and
fear - as if to ask me ‘why?’
I couldn’t help but laugh…
as I watched him slowly die.
Turned out that jealous asshole was
born to wealth and power,
his daddy was a big-wig, and
he owned an ivory tower,
the Chief was up for re-election and
scared of wealthy men,
so he put me in the cuffs...
despite my self-defense.
It seemed the judge owed his office to
the wealthy man as well,
the trial was filled with bullshit as
they condemned my soul to hell,
even my new girlfriend testified
against my claim,
for she was terrified...
her fate would be the same.
It did not take them long to
strap me in this chair,
my heart is full of hatred, as
the gas fills up the air,
it will be a few more moments ‘til
they finally put me down,
I wish I’d never gone...
to that Missouri town.
Original Copyright © 2006, 2010 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written January 2006 - Updated August 2010
Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.