to Autumn Leaves, an online poetry journalto Mario's haikuto Sondra's book reviews
to the Ball/Cavallini homepageto social witnessto the link libraries
 
Autumn Leaves

volume 6 number 7

For the BIA
by Johnny Rustywire

the night is long, the winds are blowing
finding light, someplace warm
seeking shelter, a place to lay down
the frost has come, and windows fog up
it is just friday morning,
less than a week ago, having worked
for them 12 years, a short time some way
others say that is a lifetime
walking away from all that money
they wanted to steal your heart
already taken some soul
give me your mind, take no thought
you are just one of them
what is one of them
one of those rez indians
yes I guess I am
they travel to far off places
training, workshops talking about
budgets, trust funds, trust assets
indian lands, and a little about
them rez indians
they are white men some are
others indians who have no more color
people who smile and make you a puppet
a song and dance man
fools, asses and kings
and zombies who praise their name
don't think, just do your job
who the hell are you anyway
just a rez indian that's all
told them to hell with you
but the weekend came and he stands there
just a sliver of a hope
he has been around for a little bit under
three years, I guess, wide eyes
full of innocence, his mother wanting diapers
13 bucks a pop. man they cost
his mom is sick, too weak to cook most times
he says she has lupus, don't know what it is really
she takes all kind of pills, want to set myself free
but then again, who will pay for the lights
put your time in, another 10, 15, 20 years to retire
that check at the end of a regulated rain bow
after a weekend, the thought is there
you can not quit, no way, have to go back
tomorrow going in to say, to crawl low on the ground
before a minor god, whose name is fool
i hate it, want to run away but then they have to eat
so tomorrow it will be ...good morning
i did not mean to say it, i can not resign
i need this job
put on blinders, bite the tongue
my spirit is near dead, they sicken me
but i will go in and work again
for the BIA
for the BIA
for the BIA

divider

Copyright © 2002, Johnny Rustywire, all rights reserved.

Find more poems by Johnny Rustywire.

[home] [Autumn Leaves] [reviews] [links] [haiku] [concerns] [colophon] [privacy] [site index]

Click Here!