Supi Evening

Supi boy with an air rifle
I hold my hands high in the air
Stick up!
He smiles
His little fat friend of 8 or 9
Pokes my belly
Asks for gum
Do I work for Wal-Mart?
Why the blue vest then?
Do my answers check out?
The boy kneads me like dough
Squeezes my right tit
Walks off
I laugh and
Think of Bronwyn
Who told me of this place
And how her daughter played in the falls
With native children who’d never been out of the canyon
The cicadas
The rock walls like piles of books
Old tomes stacked higgilty-piggilty
The fingered cacti
The snatches of voices
Horse dung forever
The smell of it
That bird call
I recall from Paul Winter’s Canyon
The village kids on horseback playing
The saddle on the wheel barrow
This humanless path at dusk
The red rock all
Toad on the road
Bats on the ledge
Bell white vine blossoms
Curled up for night
Random impressions
Of a white guy
In the Supi.

© Rick McKinney 2000
From “Serious Green Haired Wizard”

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