Billy the Kid

William Bonney, to his mother.

Billy, to the ladies.

Billy the Kid to all those who knew his legend.

Billy burned out his eyes in the southwest wasteland, cut the teeth of his gun on the lawmen, indians, old friends. Got so good he knew how to shoot to kill a man, to make it quick, or not.

Explode it under the heart, stops the breathing even as they fall.

I think I might be Sallie on the Chisum ranch, watching Billy come and go, my barefeet blowing in the wind on the porch, biscuits and gravy and black midnight coffee for my friend, the outlaw, my man and I watching Billy, silent as he comes, a few new holes in him, silent as he goes, patched up some. We dont' ask where or what he does between waving to the back of his horse and greeting the front. No judgements; just Billy. He breathes between his teeth; takes his hat off indoors.

Lots been written about you, Billy the Kid;

here's one more.