1 July 2012
With his Southend seafront stetson And his plastic handled gun He rode the pontoon prairies In the hazy dockland sun.
Billy the kid they called him The hulking six foot man With the mind of a little child at play In a wild west wonderland.
Billy shot us all the time And we'd pretend to die So he'd laugh and slap his sturdy steed That really was his thigh.
He'd gallop past the red polished steps Of old girls with fag-end frowns That changed to smiles for Billy When he rode into town.
For him the mournful tug boat's wail Were coyotes at the moon The bare knuckled bruising back street pub A Laramie saloon.
The gruff and growling Dockies Always seemed to understand And of Friday nights, press half-a-crown Into his grubby hand.
One day they took the kid away He needed caring for And a little bit of magic died At the institution door.
They took away his stetson His laughter and his gun And bereft the pontoon prairies Of their sunshine and their son.
TOM MAY
Billy the Kid • Opuss № I