What if there was a billionaire Indian?
Nah, not India, an American Indian?
Would we have white-boy mascots
Surrounded by white-cracker artifact?
Would white dudes be encased
With their gun racks and pickup trucks
In National Museums
In honor of their or is it our traditions?
Would pizza, beer and wings replace
Frybread, beer, and fear
Of the outside,
Or is it the inside?
Would they work for nothing in the red-privilege casinos
selling cigarettes and boos to
All those blanket-white Yahoos?
Would Sherman Alexie be
Washington’s and the world’s
Would they finally see the color of their own skin
And lighten ours to a friendlier shade of being seen?
Would they stop yelling at us for pointing out their offensiveness to us?
I’d think, I’d like that, a Native American Poet Laureate
A storyteller that can dream as much about Billionaire Indians
As a blonde girl dreams of unicorns.
Nah, not a blonde girl, cute enough to sell stuff,
Or not some raging putrid hate syndrome consuming us
but a Native American
that’s truly one of U.S.
written by Earl Yarington @2019 all rights reserved