The Real Indian Leans Against

the pink neon lit window full of plaster of paris
& resin Indians in beadwork for days with fur trim
turkey feathers dyed to look like eagles
abalone & bones
The fake Indians, if mechanically activated
would look better at the PowWow than the real one in plain jeans
For Sale   For Sale
with no price tag
One holds a bunch of Cuban rolled cigars
one has a solid red bonnet & bulging eyes ready for war
Another has a headdress from hell
with painted feathers no bird on earth
would be caught dead in
All around them are plastic inflatable
hot pink palm trees grinning skulls
shepherd beer steins chuckling check books
black rhinestone cats
& a blonde blow up fuck me doll for horny men
who want a hole that will never talk back
There are certainly more fake Indians
than real ones but this is the u. s. a.
What else can you expect from the land of sell
your grandma sell our land sell your ass
You too could have a fake Indian in your parlor
who never talks back
Fly in the face of it
I want a plastic white man
I can blow up again & again
I want turkeys to keep their feathers
& the non-feathered variety to shut up
I want to bury these Indians dressed like cartoons of our long dead
I want to live
somewhere
where nobody is sold

For Nancy Emery


From Fugitive Colors, copyright ©1995 by Chrystos.

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