“The Sweet One” — A Dr Pepper Epic Poem

Argumentum: “Dr Pepper,” a woman gunfighter doctor in the wild west, arrives to Waco, Texas, where she locates her father’s killer, the exconfederate General Brad; Dr Pepper pops a few caps in his minions, debates and defeats him; at last he begs her for unexpected mercy.

Every character is based on a brand of soda. Many details are based on a physical can of Diet Dr Pepper. Not sponsored. 212 lines of Iambic Heptameter. An Epyllion.

Well, Henrietta “Pepper” Smith, That Doctor wouldn’t rest.

She wandered round saloons and bars — She prowled the Wild West.

On roads she stood, her hat bent down, Her spurs she gave a kick.

The bad men standin’ ‘cross from her Knew Colt’s her cure for sick:

‘Now take a dive or I’ll prescribe; Don’t wriggle all pathetic,

’Cause this here cure’s administered Without an anesthetic.’

—

A Colt dragoon was at her hip, Her lab coat draped upon her.

She sought repair, but wasn’t scared To render you a goner.

That Pepper kept her Auburn red All swept about her neck;

Her labcoat gleaming off of her, The sunshine it’d reflect.

You’d spot her riding far away, But know to shift your gaze,

And hope you’d seen a cruel mirage, Than spot her through the haze.

—

With Dr. Pepper Waco-bound, The townsfolk were aghast:

“Ain’t that the gal who Pemberton And Co could not outlast?

Seems Corpus Christi made her name; Now Dobson’s racked with quakes”

And Burton says “The trod-on ground ‘Neath Dr. Pepper shakes.”

“Her horse can box, her iron sings, Her spurs can cut through steel,

Her skin beneath her spotless coat, Could shock electric eels.

And Billy Faygo hasn’t walked, Since he our words ignored,”

So claimed Both A. and W., Who’d seen her work before.

“She’s called The Sweet One, don’t you know: That’s on sarcastic breath — ”

—

‘I’m called that ’cause the thing I bring’s The sweet release of death.’

—

A hush then fell as all the town Were shocked that she’d arrived

They’d heard a rumor that she’d come To leave them un-alive.

So Waco and its Sheriff vowed To scan Horizons there,

But she’d attacked; slipped through the cracks, And caught them unawares.

Some townsfolk pawed at empty pants — Felt nude without their guns;

Still others couldn’t bring themselves To draw the ones they brung.

The Waco-ans, while quivering, Espied her Colt Dragoon.

—

She said ‘Relax, and just stand back; I’m here for that buffoon,

That evil skink, that wretched fink, That wolf with vicious maw,

Who battled at the Natural Bridge: The man who killed my pa.’

—

The Sheriff shuddered with relief. His son would see his dad.

“Well, Doc, the man you’re lookin for’s Assuredly General Brad.

He lives a ways down yonder creek, But let me tell you what:

I’m unafraid of any man, But Brad’s the only ‘but:’

An awful man’s cigars he smokes, He spits in bad spittoons,

He buys from evil ammo men, And drinks at bad saloons,

He’s got a wicked pistol, too, On wretched belt it’s held.

I’ve never seen a man approach And keep from being felled.

He’s got red eyes, black hair and hat, He’s got an evil mole,

He’ll look besot while drinking rot-gut Colored black as coal,

At Daniel Pibb’s: a demon’s crib, And he won’t be alone —

But I’m not sure a gun can shoot Through heart of hardened stone.”

—

Still Henrietta thanked the man for her ol’ father Hank.

She left en route to kill and shoot, And traced the Brazos-bank.

She took with her a Navy gun With balls point-Three-Five-Five:

Her rollin’ gun, which poker won, That none have yet survived.

She fiddled with the chambers then, Not six but only five,

And knew between the two of them Just one would leave alive.

She brought with her for just-in-case A final special round,

To ease the squeam of any deemed Not worth a death drawn out.

For this she brought on every jaunt, But never yet had used.

No wounded yet had showed regret, Her mercy unabused.

Since Pemberton’s whole crew had croaked, As quickly dead as lain,

And Pemberton had burned to coke* ‘Fore she could ease his pain.

— [coke is a refined industrial coal, used for smithing]*

For in her mind, her thoughts entwined Around her father’s snuffer.

She’d see the villain bleeding out, And love to watch him suffer.

Now drawing t’ward the wretched horde Of drinking pals of Brad,

Her drive resolved her five-revolver’s Mission that it had.

—

She steamed toward the swingin’ doors — They bashed against the wall.

On evil shined her hat and coat, Which lit the drinking hall.

‘Now felons, hellions, lone rebellions, Keep your pants on seats —

Hell, stay and drink, Cause I would think the view’ll be a treat.’

—

The felon Willy Hillingsbilly Pounded down his dew.

The man at large he charged at Doc — His hands with axes flew,

But with a shot that none forgot, Since Pepper’s aim was true,

She did collapse that mountain man, Whose time, it seemed, was due.

—

The owner of the wicked Pibb’s Matched Pepper pound for pound

He wore a gun, .point-three-five-five, With five all-matching rounds.

So spoke The Doc to Mr. Pibb, Now raring up to draw,

‘I’m twice the man that you are, Dan. Don’t count on what you saw,

Know I’m a Doc, and I’ll defrock From life your mortal organs.

But You ain’t studied near enough To stay your mother’s mourning;

For I’ve prepared to slay you there, But me, you ain’t expect her.

To do me in you’d need a twin, And you ain’t got the extra.’

The frightened Pibb just turned and fled, Now wishing not to harm her.

And rumors say he makes his pay A spicy cherry farmer.

—

Nevada’s crooked sheriff there Stood up against the lass.

His left hand held a .44; His right, a drinking glass.

He stumbled off the stool and rail, Then paused to catch his breath.

“Miss, I can take you straight to jail, Or I’ll take you to death.”

The Sweet One put her pistol down, And shot the pig a dare

‘The first shot’s yours, you drunken cur, Lest think you me unfair:

You couldn’t hit an oxen’s flank, You tub of aim-eraser,

So take your shot as best you got, Cause you won’t like the chaser.’

The sheriff of Sierra-land, He closed one eye and hissed.

A gasp had sealed the fate of him, When all saw he had missed.

—

A Friend of Dan, a Baja man, Then blasted at the Doc.

He missed her head, now feeling dread And terror, mixed with shock.

She turned and aimed and burned the flame, Igniting lethal powder:

His hand blew up; his face chewed up — Could not be screaming louder.

Through barrel drove, the bullet dove from Pepper’s problem solver,

She jammed his gun, a .thirty-one, And chain-fired his revolver.

—

Seems Baja’s former right-hand man, An evil man named Barq,

Released a demon viper there, That never missed his mark.

While stretching out his poisoned jaws And hissing, Barq’s Gaboon

Was shot right through his venomed mouth By Doctor Pep’s Dragoon.

The poisoned ball shot through the hall. Before it found its home —

It carried with it through the wall Barq’s spine and sternum bone.

—

A German man, one Heinrich Fanta, Burst through swinging doors.

They flapped and creaked behind him while The ruined bar was floored.

The patrons crouched on hands and knees And peeped behind the barrels.

The face of Heinrich burnt aglow, Lit orange by the arrow.

For he had strung Comanche-bow With fiery flaming ichor:

A secret pestilence unlocked By heating up the liquor.

With poison on his face and shirt, With poisoned pants and stockings,

He smeared the evil all around — Too terrible for mocking.

This sort of look unsteeled the nerves Of those that couldn’t slew him,

And never did he think the trick Would ever dare undo him.

He came in with his bowstring tight Mere thoughts from loosing fire,

His crazed demeanor emanating ‘Nough to be admired.

With just a second’s thinking-space The Doctor aimed her barrel.

She snapped the string above his finger; Thereby loosed the arrow.

It broke and spun the arrow back, Flaming, falling shirt-ward

And thus ignited Fanta there And sent him to the burntward.

—

And there he’d hunched, that General Brad: The man that killed her pa.

She glared upon the glowing eyes — The last he’d ever saw.

He drank an awful hellish drink, As Black as demon spit:

The sort to give dyspepsia To vultures drinking it.

He’d seen her draw and lay the law Upon his wretched fellows.

He’d seen the flash and smelt the ash And heard their yelping bellows.

He downed his glass and found the lass Between his glowing peepers.

The tallest baddest sinning man — The worst of Western creepers.

For since the war Brad ain’t ignored An opening for violence:

He’s caught both tribes and wagon-trains And both he brought to silence.

The yelps and screams don’t haunt his dreams, But smugly decorate them.

He’d shoot your pools of blood unspooled Without the need to hate them.

—

“Well howdy, miss: you sure don’t miss; Who taught your aim, I wonder?

Your hat’s a strange one… holster though — I thought I sent it under!

Hot damn, I’ll tell the vulture tasked: By pistol-pouch, I clocked her —

You, cowgirl, are the daughter of: That lousy traitor-doctor!

Your pistol-pocket’s empty now, But let me read you gospel:

My arm is just as loaded now, But equally as hostile.”

—

He started loading; so did she: Four hands of lethal quickness

As Pepper loaded up the drugs She knew would cure the sickness:

‘Well General Brad your day’s been had, Sure that, you’ve clearly saw,

At the battle of the Natural Bridge: The day you killed my pa.

My pa before, like me, deplored The dying of the ill.

He’s not a hawk, or fighting cock; He’s not the sort to kill.

He tended you and Union too; He worked to battle death.

Pa’s healer’s knife fought Reaper’s scythe; Delaying dying breaths.

You shot his back: a coward’s tack, You awful, lousy chicken.

My dear old kin just healed the men Whose clocks could keep on tickin’.

You mangy danger, traitor, scum, You killed a healin’ man!

A better Doctor’s eye have I, To heal what sick I can.

And on my scrip, for you that’s sick: A wonder-drug, a boon:

Is intravenous spinning Lead That’s spat from my Dragoon.

And better too, am I than you, You miserable affront

To God, or Nature, Honor too, So I’ll shoot you through the front.

You trigger-finger, demon-tongue, You aiming eye of hate,

You demon shod with body parts That Christ annihilates!’

—

“You’re spitting venom, little miss, ‘The Sweet One’ rings unearned.

Now what you said is mostly true, But this I’ll have you learn:

Your father Hank? A man of Rank — A high confederate marksman.

He rallied quick behind the cause, A slavery-loving Spartan.

He joined before and me implored To rally ‘round the banner —

Your pa was not some healin’ Saint, But good-ol-boy with manners.

He’d given all his one-shot arms And powder to the crew

He’d raised us, trained us, drove us hard To aim for Yankee blue.

But when he spied the Federal side And saw their grisled faces,

He saw them dying willingly For men of other races.

This realization rocked the Doc and Made him awful worse.

He turned and then our wounded spurned, And thereby caused a curse.

But missy let me thank you here For brightening my hobbies;

I don’t much often get to ask The stories of the bodies.

But I’m no traitor, Pepper, Doc, Your pa betrayed the South”

—

‘My dad he hated cads like you, You shut your evil mouth.’

—

“If that’s the honest way you feel, Then talking seems a fool.

You take your paces to the east, I’ll take mine west to duel.”

—

They double-checked their arms, their caps, Their powder and their lead,

And each asked Christ for aim advice, And that their foe be dead.

While cocking back his Army Colt, The General cracked a grin:

“I’m holding now the very gun That did your father in,”

—

Said Pepper to the General then, Unnerving to the core:

‘The bullet that I’m pulling, Brad, Is thirsting now for gore

It wants to park in scarlet dark; It tells me it is bound

To lark and pierce your darkened heart, And watch your bleeding out.”

—

The triggers pulled, the hammers dropped, the guns spat flame and smoke.

The Sweet One and the General stood, Not knowing who had broke.

The first to blink and break their gaze, The General cleared his throat,

And growing was the dark maroon That stained his Rebel coat.

The General then collapsed and coughed, Brad knew that he’d been beat.

He felt the ball .point-three-five-five, He felt his weakened meat.

—

“Hey Sweet One, Doctor, Pepper, Friend, I know that I’ve been awful:

I dealt your dad a coward’s end — A thing that’s right unlawful.

There ain’t a line that I can find, To make you help your villain,

But Doctor Pep, if you could help, I crave a peaceful killin’.”

—

‘You’ll bleed and die and dying lie; How long’s your only option.

But I’ve got here a bullet smeared, With syrupy concoction.

It can relieve, since I believe In mercy for the wicked;

I’d take the shot that I have got, I’d calmly punch your ticket

But tell me why you shouldn’t die As slow as you deserve to?’

—

“I killed your Dad but barely had The courage or the nerve to.

He healed me good — as doctors should — I know I will not meet him.

I’ll head from here to down below, And not where I could greet him.

But let me burn my sins away And penance ‘fore the Lord,

And though I’ll stand before the lash Of righteous demon horde.

I’ve known awhile I’d spill my bile To someone who’ll outlive me

So send me to the only man Alive who might forgive me.”

—

The General looked from down below, While sunset shone behind him:

He caught her freckles ‘neath her hat And saw her face unwind him.

While panting slow, he held his heart, A shot rang through the town.

His spine untensed; his hat fell off — A corpse lay on the ground.

So stuck his final countenance: A death-bleached ex-dragoon.

Contrasting with his whitened flesh, Were stains of deep maroon.

One hole had stained his jacket port; Merlot dripped off his hat.

His blood had darkened Waco’s earth. With mercy, that was that.

That sinner’s pain which Pepper drained Inspired an invention.

So Dr. Pepper bottled it: The taste of Pa’s redemption.