Winters Gunslinger

A tired truck hums a hollow hymn, Its engine choked with frozen air. Inside, a shadow leans— Fingers tapping frostbit steel.

The cowboy stares through cracked glass, His eyes colder than the blizzard’s touch. Antlers flicker in the rearview, Ghosts of deer, or some lost memory.

Snow slouches on the hood, Melting like promises too thin to keep. In the distance, neon firelight burns, But no one rides to the rescue here.