The Girl Everyone Just Sort of Assumed Was Native American

Here is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.

Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.

Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.

So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty about.

GET UP!
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Mouse in My House
The mouse in my house has the run of the land. He pees in my porridge and he shits in my hand while I lie sleeping, naively unaware that the mouse in my house is nibbling on my hair. And eating my breadcrumbs! And drinking my pop! I... (10/14/02)

The Boy From Demon's Bay
In a tree on a hill by a glimmering lake lived a boy named LeCroy and his father, LeJake. In the simmering sun on the year's hottest day the boy went for a walk in the town of Demon's Bay. Though he was well liked the boy was... (9/30/02)