Lone Tree Saloon

The Nebraska breeze
caresses crude chestnut,
flings the bat-wing door
into moonlit motion.

Light and laughter
seeps through the slats,
the foe I fear unseen
in the contrast.

Hand twitching
by my holster
I push through
to the other side.

As gun smoke clears
the stark shadow
of the saloon door
swings to and fro.