June 1, 2008
The Native
Skin around his left eye seeming to melt into the socket,
Like roots around a sink hole grasping for the earth,
His long body moving slowly in the gray leather recliner,
Sweaty navy blue t-shirt clinging, loose on his wrinkled skin.
Stringy gray hair against permanently burnt red, cracked skin creases,
Dangly, skanky gold earring stringing from his loose left lobe,
He stands; walking toward me his eye begins to bleed.
His strong long arms grip my shoulders,
Paralyzed, my feet glued to the tile, my voice shakes,
What the fuck are you doing? Well fucking do it.
Shadows of strange Indians dance
Around my room in darkness.
Fear surrounds my body
As sweat rolls over moist skin, I am awake.
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