Nonna and Scott Collins
About Scott Collins
He stood there like an oak,
Tryin' ta stare me down,
Eyes were squinted, toward the sun,
The street was dead of sound.
He'd made his brag, now here we were,
So close, one couldn't miss,
Coats pulled back, hands a hoverin',
'Bove the pistols on our hips.
If he's just twitch, I'd make my move,
An pull that hogleg out,
But this time sure, I'll catch some lead,
Of this I have no doubt.
Cuz as I looked him up and down,
I seemed to see myself,
Calm an ready. Poised to strike,
Not fearin' for his health.
Well there we went. Slappin' leather,
It seemed both right in sync,
I fanned that hammer. Crouchin' low,
Faster than a blink.
Then I stood, to turn an walk,
Not showin' any fear,
An' closed again the bathroom door.
That held the full-length mirror.
© 2003, Scott Collins
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
About Scott Collins:
From the 2004 Salinas California Rodeo Cowboy Poetry Gathering program: "Scott...lives in the hills east of Gonzales on a little ranch loaded with his dogs, cats, chickens, horse and cattle. His spread has no TV, no power, no phone and gets water from a windmill...Born in Africa, Scott has 17 years at Soledad Prison (not as an inmate, we are told) and his poetry shows real style and promise."
Y'all Come Back
Over on the Boegue
Ain't No Spring Chicken
Above the Rest
Available for $12 postpaid from:
Nonna and Scott Collins, Salinas 2004
PO Box 2011
Gonzales, California 93926
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