The only good Indian
a cloud of dust 10 Navajos and a white guy
on an MG Midget
looking like some surrealistic miniature image
of the Calcutta Express
chugging’ down a gravel road out side of Ontario Oregon
we had been at a bar in town
settled down to a table and waited for beer
the bar maid called me over
I thought she had the hots for me
she said ‘we don’t serve Indians’
I thought about that,
and said fuck you
me and the Navajos have the top down
crusin’ and boozin’
on some dirt road outside of Ontario
tossing empty beer cans
bearing witness for being totally into the moment
I park on the bank of a small stream
we pass around the Thunderbird and more beer
they tell me the story of their beliefs
Don't throw rocks at a whirlwind
It will throw them back and chase you
Don't whistle or you will call up the wind
not to look at clouds moving in the sky
Or you will be a slow runner
do not watch a river flowing swiftly
or you will get dizzy and fall in
The death of the sun and of the moon is a frightful
and ominous thing
do not look at a shooting star unless
you blow at it
I wish I had listened more
we finish off the beer and the wine
because, I am after all, the camp foreman
and it is my job to make sure the Indians
do not bring
booze onto the farm, I am very good at this
we go back to the farm
dismount emerge fall off the MG
we go into the my barracks
where resides the only TV
I am also keeper of the TV
we watch a cowboy and Indian movie
on an old black and white
the TV Indians talk
the Indians with me laugh
I ask why
they say because the Indians on the TV are supposed to be
the savage Sioux
but they are really Navajo saying that
the ‘white man sucks’
sounded good to me
we all laughed
tomorrow the Navajos from the Tuba City
and the Farmersville reservations
will move irrigation pipe around the 10,000 acre farm
at 5 cents a pipe
tomorrow I will take one of them into town
to see a doctor at the clinic
because I am, the camp foreman
a 17 year old Navajo
with bright eyes and copper skin
a clean white shirt new Levi’s
hair that no white man sees when undone
and hangs to the floor is now tied up
into a tight bun just below the bottom of the back of his straw cowboy hat the doctor at the clinic tells me that he will have to be sent back to the reservation
I ask why
the doctor says that he has TB,
I ask what will happen to him
and the doctor says simply
that he will die
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