The Rifleman

The opening’s punctuated by a penis level ejaculation of gunfire;
Sam Peckinpaugh overdubbed a staccato barrage of thirteen shots
From a rifle that could only fire eleven bullets.  Hollywood license.
“A gun is not a plaything, Mark.” says Lucas McCain
As he twirls his eighteen ninety two forty caliber Winchester
Three hundred sixty degrees to cock it.  Deft wrist action
Aided by a round ring welded to the gun to facilitate a feat
As ominous and threatening as a Samurai brandishing a sword. 

“My pa’s the best shot in the whole world,” boasts Mark McCain.
As the camera pans away from the “bad guy” with the gaping hole
In his chest, who in his death throes is vainly attempting to stuff
His intestines back into where they belong,   The camera swings
To Lucas McCain, his arm around the shoulders of his son Mark,
As they walk away, their backs to the carnage.  Lucas looks down
At his worshipful son and says, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Mark."
Another cowboy tries vainly to crawl away, his spine shattered.

 “Are you up for a piece of cherry pie, Mark?” he asks, now
Just a sod-busting rancher attempting to raise a son.  A farmer
Who just happens to be one of the fastest guns in the West.
Living a male fantasy life devoid of the encumbrance of a wife,
With a boy to mold in his own gun-toting, clenched jawed,
Two-fisted, God-fearing image; an instrument of divine justice,
The one man moral code of the frontier town of North Fork
Glowering at the camera as he reloads while striding forward.

He turns to blast the thug who’d fired a shot at Sheriff Micah,
The  broken-down rummy  he’d pulled out of the gutter, buoyed up
And made a lawman of again in a previous episode.  In the world
Of "The Rifleman" men either have to "man up" or die.  The camera
Pans away again so as not to show the widening pool of blood
Seeping into the street.  “Now, off to school, Mark.
Don’t let that fancy schoolmarm from out East fill your ears
With any more of her bleeding-heart anti-gun nonsense.”

Lucas McCain, Moses, the Duke, and the Gipper.  Roles that elevated
Men to North Fork, Mount Sinai, the Alamo  and The White House.
Last I heard of the four, before Alzheimer’s or lung cancer got them all,
They were sitting beneath the HOLLYWOOD sign, passing a bottle
While practicing their legendary marksmanship by shooting at stars.
John Wayne shot at Polaris and missed.  So did Heston and Reagan.
Shortly after Chuck Connors fired, a meteor blazed into the atmosphere.
"That’s how it's done, boys,” he said, flashing  his best television grin.

 Rich Hanson