Riverboat Revenge Poem by David Welch

Lyle Cosgrove had worked the Silver Queen
for two years now, ever since he had left
family drama back in Ohio,
he had simply left his home and moved west.

He made a living as a gambler,
had spent months working riverfront saloons,
his straight plan had impressed a captain ashore,
now he worked the steamship's casino room.

The money was good and the first-class guests
liked the distraction of activity,
it gave them something to amuse their minds
as they worked up the grand Mississippi.

With rumors of war on the horizon
a little amusement was much in need,
Lyle put on a show at the table,
a smirk and joke helped to lighten the scene.

And though he made sure the house always won,
he helped the people to enjoy their trip,
Lyle tried to discourage the poorer folk,
but the rich ones could stand to lose a bit.

One warm day in June of 1860
he played poker with a trio of men,
it was early, few people were about,
and no big dollars were coming from them.

The one in middle had luck on his side,
made a few dollars but nothing that great,
though the way he bragged you'd think that he had
accomplished something noteworthy and great.

"There ain't a player who can out-bluff me,
many have tried and it's never been done.
There ain't a man alive sharp enough to
put a trick over on Fred Kensington! "

Lye froze stiff in his chair at the words,
and a good gambler should never react.
The man took this as a sign of his greatness,
said, "See even he sees the truth of that! "

But Lyle just looked coolly at the man,
the table so quiet you could hear them breath,
then said, "Well it's easy to win a game
when you are hiding aces up your sleeve."

Fred leapt up from his chair, eyes a-fire,
screeched out, "How dare you go call me a cheat! "
The chair flew back and clattered on the floor
as the big men leapt right up to his feet.

He went quick for a pistol on his hip,
but Lyle just gave a flick of the wrist,
a derringer flipped out from his wide sleeves,
the gun fired, Fred still digging for his.

Kensington went down, two slugs high in his chest,
the two other men dove down towards the floor,
the sound brought a rush of people and crew,
the captain himself soon stood in the door.

"I didn't want to, he tried to pull first, "
explained Lyle when the questions were asked.
"I wish that he hadn't forced me to shoot…
But what could I do, it happened so fast? "

The two men confirmed Fred went for his gun,
and the captain just let the whole thing be,
Lyle got up and walked out to the deck,
in the fresh air he felt able to breath.

He paced up to the churning paddle-wheel,
then he learned himself up against the rail,
he pulled something from a waistcoat pocket,
it was a letter, tattered, old, and frail.

He unfolded it and reread the words
written by his sister two years ago,
Constance had spoke of her new fiancé
that she soon hoped all the family would now.

He was a surveyor headed out west,
would find new lands in the bright prairie sun,
and a good lot where they would build a house,
that he went by the name Fred Kensington.

Lyle held the letter and then recalled
his sister coming back home all in tears,
unmarried, with child, and all alone,
Fred had run off, and she was drowned in fears.

He recalled the harsh words his parent screamed,
she had brought them great disgrace, they had said.
He remembered finding her in the barn...
hanging from the rafters, by her own hand dead.

He looked at the letter one final time,
then ripped it up into shreds fervently,
threw it past the rail so it fluttered down
to the depths of the cold Mississippi.