Bang! Bang! You’re Dead!

Summary

"Bang! Bang! You’re Dead!" is a narrative poem that recounts a son's quest for vengeance against the man who killed his father, set in the context of the American Old West.

Abstract

The poem tells the story of a young boy who witnesses the shooting of his father by Matt Dillon. The boy's mother, in her grief and anger, attempts to shoot Matt Dillon but misses. The family relocates back east, where the boy grows up with his mother's tales of his father's bravery and her urging for revenge. As the boy matures into a skilled marksman, he vows to return to Dodge to kill Matt Dillon and avenge his father's death. The poem is interspersed with the refrain "Bang! Bang! You’re dead," emphasizing the theme of violence and its impact across generations.

Opinions

The poem conveys a cycle of violence, as the protagonist is influenced by his mother's grief and the cultural norms of using guns to solve problems.
The author suggests that violence begets violence, with the protagonist's desire for revenge being a direct consequence of his father's violent death.
There is a subtle critique of the glorification of guns and violence in society, particularly through the protagonist's upbringing and the cultural context of the Old West.
The author reflects on personal experiences with toy guns and the influence of societal messages that encourage the use of violence.
The poem implies that the protagonist's journey is tragically misguided, as he follows a path of vengeance rather than healing or understanding.
The author's note at the end provides insight into the inspiration behind the poem and a personal stance against violence, contrasting with the narrative's depiction of revenge.

A Narrative Poem

Matt Dillon, Gunsmoke (Public Domain: CBS Television)

I was there that Saturday when Matt D. shot my father down. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

I can still smell the gun powder and see my father flinch as the bullet hit his chest. I still see him falling… falling…falling face down. My mother was at his side almost before he hit the dirt. She yelled and screamed. I saw her pick up the Colt 45, aim and pull the trigger. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

She missed. Matt D. knocked the Colt from her hand. I wanted to pick up the Colt but my feet were rooted to the ground. I wanted to hug my mother but I was frozen where I stood. I was only ten, not yet a man. I swore I would kill Matt D. before I died. Before I too passed beyond the folds of this life. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

My mother put us on a stagecoach and we headed back east to live with her folks. She never talked about what happened that day, but late at night I would catch her in the rocking chair, the tears falling down her pale cheeks. I practiced with my father’s Colt every chance I had. I knew one day I would return and face the man who brought my father to an early grave. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

My father was not a bad man. He worked hard to eke out a living in that godforsaken land. To provide us with a roof over our head and food in our bellies. But there never seemed to be enough to pay the storekeeper his due. He took to stealing when I was quite young, still sucking on my mother’s breast. Small things at first. Extra seed to plant the crops. A necklace for his lovely wife. And soon he was robbing stagecoaches, trains and banks. He had a few loyal friends who would ride with him. He learned to shoot with the best of them. Getting faster by the day. I knew none of this growing up— only that he would disappear for days at a time. After he died, my mother filled the nights with stories of his bravery and speed. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

He kept little of the money for himself. Just enough to keep us from starving. Most of the money he shared with those whose need he thought was greater than our own. No one knew who he was. They thought he was a poor farmer from dawn to dusk. That is until one of his friends decided to turn him in for the reward. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

We had gone to Dodge that day for some supplies— mother, father and me. We had been there often and no one had ever bothered us. This time was different. Almost as if someone had tipped off the sheriff. Matt D. had confronted my father outside the saloon. My father did not hesitate to draw his Colt, but he was not fast enough. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

We buried him in that town and left. Mother keeps telling me that it is my duty to return and avenge the name of my father. And I so want to please her. To put Matt D. down. To see him lying in the dirt—his blood draining into the earth. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

I am sixteen now, old enough to call myself a man. I have been practicing for years with my father’s Colt. I am good—very good. When I was boarding the train to return to Dodge, my mother gave me a new Colt 45, with a pearl handle. She said she had it made for me to avenge my father. She told me not to return home until the deed was done. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

I arrived back in Dodge last night. I had a couple of drinks at the saloon and listened to the gossip. Matt D. stopped in and I almost didn’t recognize him. He had aged more than I could have imagined. When I meet him on the street tomorrow, I will remind him of what he did six years ago. Then I will take his life as he took my father’s. Bang! Bang! You’re dead.

(Author’s Note: This narrative poem was inspired by an anti-violence collage that included a photo of Matt Dillon, the sheriff on the TV show, Gunsmoke. The TV show aired for 20 years. Violence does not solve problems, yet, people continue to carry guns and shoot each other. As a child, I received a toy gun and holster as a gift and I played Cowboys and Indians. We were encouraged early in our lives to solve our problems with guns. Fortunately for me, my religious upbringing overshadowed the cultural messages and I resisted the societal urge to use violence to fix my problems.)

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