reckoning

i saw some boots
pointed witchy like yours
and i looked for a buckle,
a moustache, and a horse
-smell like yours
but it was only a manufacture
of you
like manure from a cow
and i got some on my shoe

somewhere out there is a cowboy being born
and an indian becomes less than
tell me dears how do you take your porn?
do you like it soft or prefer it hardcore?

do i dare to call you pa?
do i dare become a squaw?
i remember your Hitler moustache so well
every bristle that cut was my hell
and i'm sure that we'll both burn
because this world has no pity
for an Indian scorned

i used to shovel horseshit
got used to being called a faggot
because i was no more of a man than you
but you were always less than
and never equal to
though the sum of your parts
were more than a pound of flesh
i tried to weigh your heart
and found you had already devoured it

i found Custer in your hair
and the wind told me to beware
as the day of reckoning
was soon coming
and i fell on wounded knees
and i prayed to you
like you were a priest

but i was no more of a pilgrim
anymore than you liked an Indian
perhaps that is why you
pound, pound, pounded me
like a drum
to pump more blood
back into that pale-Cotton Mather-heart of yours
don't tell me you've got another treaty to treat me better
-i've already heard it all before

i put my foot
in a boot
like yours
and began to sway
like you sway
or was it like a horse?
backs are still backs
whether standing erect
or down on all fours
i began to follow your tracks
that looked kkk
mine only looked like
y, y, why's
that i made with my chicken-like legs

and i began to strut like a young cock
and picked at the scraps of me
that were between you and the rocks