Cowboys and Indians

I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and  just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.

Cowboys and Indians

When me and my sister were little.

We would pick berries in the field behind the house

And paint our faces with them

Like warriors

Young smiling faces with halos

singing red red songs of war

Everyone knew about Cowboys and Indians

And mostly people wanted to be the Cowboy.

I wanted to be the Indian

And so I think I was.

I’ve never slaughtered a bull and used its hide for warmth

But I’ve strangled the moon,

Shaking out words to hide under

I’ve killed plenty of cowboys though

And I can make my own weapons

From stone

Or from wood

Or from words

And I dance on their graves

Saying ancient chants

About taking back my land

It was all for play

And all make believe

Who would of thought every cowboy is carrying a gun

And The Indians with their war paint

Spend all day chanting for rain.

A flood would do us all in

And I should have eaten those poison berries

While there was still a happy ending