lay down your rifle/ part 2/ lamentation number 9

lay down your rifle/ part 2/ lamentation number 9

fiction
Edward w Pritchard


Your ancient powers have left you Geronimo and your people have lost awe and respect for your talents and abilities.

Your labor was rented until extinguished by exhaustion, as your beauty and booty were hypothecated until spoilt. Your connections, contacts and ideals rot on the vine. Material possessions, property and treasure deflate away.

We are all Indians now. Hide in the hills and keep on the constant move. Sleep on the ground without a fire or tarp your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased. You have no allies and your enemies have forgotten you.

The ambulance crew patiently circles like vultures waiting for you to drop. Lay down your rifle Native American, hide in the Hills and sleep on sloped snow covered ground; your homeland is repossessed and your past is erased.

 Rise early to sell your buttons to tourists and sit industriously and whittle a toy bow and arrow for sale Geronimo; there is no need to lead and march your people single file across deserts and through waterless Mountains by night, there is no where to go.

Your time is gone chief Geronimo, your people have disbanded and your Family disperses.

You couldn't adapt citizen Geronimo, the clan's fires are cold and the huts are silent. Our spirits are low and our dreams are dashed.