Saloon Shootout

mr bones was a strange old fellow
stripped of skin by his knobbly forebearers
and deserted in the carcass
of a once proud township
with only a oily top hat and dissonant fiddle
to befriend his rickety jaw

nikolai was a behemoth of a man
raised in realms too frigid for even polar bears
instructed in the shotgun from a tender babe
and left to fend for himself
to hunt seal and sable
in the bleak siberian wastes

one grim day
our two specimens chanced upon each other
in the grim cut of a slum alley
riddled with rats and rot
nikolai vladislav pudovkin as we know him
was passing through the blighted blocks
to an icy blue bath
while mr bones was straddling through the streets
searching for a copper coin
to procure some endurance from

the sun glared on the pinewood stacks
like a torch on the burial mound
they stumbled into each other
like a wave biting into the hull of a broken boat

mr bones fell first
his matchstick legs collapsed into the mud
while nikolai toppled face first
into sediment filled sludge
mr bones righted himself in a teeming fury
he challenged with a brittle twang
"boy, i bet you can't beat me in a battle of bowstrings"
pulling his bear like form up
nikolai heard this dare
"very well, i will teach you what real men do in cesspools like this"

hauling out his double bass
from his blemished back
7 feet tall
looking ever more terrible by the monster of a man
a reindeer hair bow to match the cords
"i'll kick off this show, shall i?"
meeting mr bone's sunken gaze
and he bound the bow to the bass

with strokes that could go against a whirlpool
he enacted his tune
rough and uncut
it sprawled across the beastly squalor
and the sun went down
and the hounds bayed for black blood

when his performance had reached it's grotesque culmination
he lay his double bass down on the gunk
lying beneath the bony feet
and bowed mockingly
beckoning mr bone's to commence his beggary

with a whistle he took out the enamel case
laid it down pristinely
and unlatched it's contents
with a snap he pulled out a polished and shined fiddle
emblazoned with years of torrid and hard busking
feeling the fine strings with a silver hair bow
he exclaimed dryly
"i'll show you the true meaning of birdsong"

weaving his fleshless fingers
he stitched a symphony into the thin air
it danced upon the thawing mire
gleefully dressing the town
in a intricate and macabre piece

when his concert was at a close
the wind seemed to rush at him
begging for an encore
nikolai was at a loss
his beard bristled up
his mind knew he had been squandered
he charged towards mr bones
tinged by a crimson cloud

but he was too late
he howled at the burning sky
as the slush that once cowered at his majesty
sucked him into it's toothless maw
while mr bones laughed at his frostbitten face
with his vibrant joints
he tipped his hat and toddled off into the dead of night
lugging behind him a rich bounty