Roy Rogers, Tim Holt, Gene
Autry, Lone Ranger—only
you and Hopalong Cassidy
wore the bad man’s ensign.
Strange Zorro, you tangled
villains’ knees with bull’s
stinging tongue, in a flick
bit ready trigger finger, silver
pistol twirling harmlessly
in air. Aloof among bland
heroes you demurred from
Colt or Winchester, your
will’s sharp judgment the lash-
tip of darting eye, flashing
wrist, Higher Mind’s razor-
sudden arrow. Lightning
crack ripped veils of vain
pretense, entered instantly
to warn, expose, chastise,
condemn. Not rawhide but
Raw Truth burned low
culprits, the emblem of Final
Justice gathered in a great
loop at right hip. Twenty-gallon
sable Stetson, raven white-
piped tunic, black pants tucked
in boots knee-high spurred
with wheeled stars, swiftly
you strode alone into legend,
past sheriff and outlaw, citizen,
rustler, jury, judge, all the ranks
of mortal, un-conflicted men.
Nels Hanson has worked as a farmer, teacher and contract writer/editor. His stories have appeared in Antioch Review, Texas Review, Black Warrior Review, Southeast Review, Montreal Review, and other journals, and stories were nominated for Pushcart Prizes in 2010 and 2012. Poems have appeared in Poetry Porch, Atticus Review, Red Booth Review, Meadowlands Review, Emerge Literary Review, Outside In Literary & Travel Magazine, and other magazines, and are in press at Oklahoma Review, Paradise Review, Hoot & Hare Review, Citron Review, and Poetry Porch.