JGA (16 December 1943 / Nottingham)

The Midget Sharpshooter

The spray of bullets hit the wall,
It missed him by a mile,
Lucky he was not so tall,
But, it wiped away his smile.

But why was he near that wall,
In that desert far from town?
And why was he being shot at
By that shooting circus clown?

Amid the crowd a-riding past,
Weary and dry from thirst,
He’d taken aim and hit the water tank,
With a lucky shot ~ his first.

These angry, thirsty circus folk,
Performing far from home,
Took exception to this crazed man,
Who into their camp did roam.

For he had gone to get a job,
As a Midget, ~ a little man,
But someone had left a gun around,
And he shot the tank, but missed the can.

© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 24 January 2006

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