Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Smoke Shop Indians

Do you remember standing there
Under the awning
Trying to get away from the elements?
We had been smoking marbs,
and zoning into certain subjects
Regarding Heritage, and life.
It never transpired to us
That we were growing up.
All that transpired to us
Was that these cigarettes
Wouldn't last forever,
We couldn't last forever…
He would remain and I
Was supposed to go to New York.
We stood there by the entrance.
Trying to keep warm,
Snickering at the whites and saying
“You wouldn't understand,
          It's an Indian thing.”
Then we'd bust up in laughter,
White people shaking their heads,
          Red people hiding their smirks.
We pondered the days when one of us
Would have a car so
We wouldn't have to hop busses in the rain.
It rained with fury that day,
We wished we had enough money
For McDonald's or Wendy's.
We were hungry and home
Was quite a ways away.
We stood there eternally that day,
Waiting for the bus and smoking,
Stern looking at one moment,
          Pitiful at the next.

September 27, 2004

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Smoke Shop Indians

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