The Sharpshooter Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

Traveling through the countryside
The Showman looked far and wide
To find an attraction that would be
Something to add to his menagerie.
And there on every post and wall
He saw targets both large and small
That were a testament to the marksman's skill
For centered on all was the bullet's drill.

Secretly he planned to take this one
Of gun-shooting power, now unknown,
And exhibit his talents to all the world
To Washington D. C., the capital, it's called.

He enquired who might be
This one that would go down in history
As the greatest shot
That parents had begot.

'It's Inez's boy, ' they said
'Right here in Searchlight, born and bred.
Why he's known widely, '
They answered smirkingly.

So old PT (or maybe some other)
Loaded up junior
And off to DC
They went happily.

Announced with great promotion
With advertisements to gain public's attention
That he was bringing to town
A marksman of great renown.

They'd have a show that would open eyes
Of those cynics and other wise
Who thought those from the sticks,
Among other names, were called hicks.

Was on September 29
Assembled in a chorus line
Were assorted ones, great and small
There to promote junior's talents, all.

The lady, for that's what she was called
Seemed to be more interested (as I recall)
In her own deeds and accomplishments
Than the One senatored for prominence.

And to be Frank
One other seemed to be always on the flank
Of the lady and bid her due
As he was suppose to do.

Doddging right and left as well
Like a cat chasing his tail
Was one who reminded all who would listen
That it was he that deserved their attention.

And hidden from view, although supposedly
The reason for this great assembly
Were the financial genuses that would provide
The money for the show inside.

Off to the side stood Nevada's favorite son
Who was there to cement the deal as done.
Silent without scripted words, he wore a smirk
Grinning, then sober, sometimes even appearing alert.

The hall grew silent as he took his place
For on the stage were the targets he faced.
Raising his arms as if an Angel in flight
He appeared to be adjusting the rifle's sight.

The crowd grew silent, then restless
As the man seemed to be under duress
Until finally with a blast
He fired his rifle at last.

The several targets placed there in plain view
Were to receive the leadened bullets, each on cue.
First one and then another and another
Were fired at as his rifle thundered.

When the cloud of smoke disappeared from the stage
The crowd was aghast, then in a rage
For not a single bullseye was hit.
No, the bullets had endangered those far from it.

As the public filed away from the show,
Some questioned how it came to such a blow.
How could a marksman perform such a feat
Overshooting easy targets without missing a beat.

And Leherer (or some other showman, in season)
Asked him for the reason
For this disastrous showing of marksmanship denied
'Was there a reason? Did he have something to hide? '

Junior then said in a voice quite low,
You made it difficult for me to show
How I hit the bullseye so true and fair
But come back tomorrow (if you dare.)

By then I will have drawn circles around
All the bullet holes that I have found.

Slowly it occurred to the promoter and the press
That Harry, the village idiot,
was not unlike all those others elected to Congress.