BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

gage

way back in

the day we

used to set

fire to tall

grass prairies.

we'd do it around

a herd of buffalo

and send them

running to deep

water.

we controlled the

fire like the wind

and drove the beasts

where we needed them.

few drowned while

the rest stood on

what was left of

the grass, lying

in wait to be shot

down for that

night's supper.

that was when

I rode with

the tribe and

old White Fang

still had a

few teeth in

his head.

he's long past

now and we've

since gone east.

I don't

like it

much out

here.

though the smell

of the honeydew

is still lingering,

motorcars spitting

out gas make me

choke when we

head into town.