WHITE CLAY PIGEONS

In White Clay, Nebraska
I go shopping with my sister
for groceries
“It’s cheaper here…”
she says,
“…Because no one wants to come here.”

upon checking out
the buzzard lady
scowls at the food stamp card
ready to pick
the stereotypes from our bones
but then she smiles
at my niece’s pretty little face
and leaves us quietly alone

outside the store
a broken wing
Indian
stumbles to our car door
"Cousin, cousin,
can you spare me some change
a quarter, a dime, anything?"

"No I don't have any money"
my sister angrily says,
loading up the groceries
But then the wounded thing
comes around to my end
I quickly fish out
what change I have
and chuck it at him
like bread crumbs

because I know
how close you can come
to flying
out there
in the real white world
I know how easy it is
to spread your wings
to want to soar
golden
and majestic
like the white men
only to crumble
into pieces
when someone shoots
down your dreams

in White Clay
the drunks pick each other up
when one of them
has fallen
So many shattered
So few that matter