There could never be a Silver Bullet

Quite efficient enough for the likes of Scarlett.

She would have already calculated angle, trajectory and speed

For the most efficient of her brontide crescendos.

The reducing flame for Cadmium is grey and opaque.

How fitting.

So just what will be the final heart stopper to the trilogy?

Will dandy Rhett be left to take his southern comfort elsewhere?

And drown his sorrows in bourbon and coke down at the Blue Moon Saloon.

Pretending to forget his sweetest angels kiss.

She was like a bad habit, that one.

Not grating on the optics, but a troubled lone star.

Spends her time dreaming of some French connection,

An encounter in Vichy at dusk.

She could turn a single eye, like a gimlet,

boring in on dry red lips for a chance at Parisian Fools Gold.

And every Yukon Cornelius or not so Gentle Ben as far as the eye could see

Would fall for her.

Always on Cinco de Mayo,

When she,

Dressed in black velvet, batted those long lashes like the femme fatale she put on.

But she would invite no cowboy back to her Casa Blanca.

Draped in sprigs of nightshade, she preferred self contrived pleasures.

Never travel to Chicago

To talk emu export.

Home is with Glinda

At the Mercantile exchange.

She would never let full sail

In the middle of a not more than a squall.

Seems life is good there.

Nobody would ever deny

What a Georgia peach she could be

This Vesper martini.

His after dinner cocktail

Who would spend her last golden nugget

For just one chance to set Rhett

One old fashioned

Fire in the sky.

...(Skip the maraschino cherry and the pink parasol, if you please)