Poetry

Bureaucratic Showdown

The bell would chime.

Ding.

Ding.

That was the time.

Ding.

Ding.

“High noon,” he’d said.

Ding.

Ding.

“I’ll shoot ya’ dead!”

Ding.

Ding.

And to the street . . .

Ding.

Ding.

The two did meet.

Ding.

. . .

The silent bell

. . .

an anxious hell.

. . .

They would find soon

. . .

it wasn’t noon

. . .

a narrow escape

. . .

thanks to red-tape

. . .