I Hear He's a Winner
massively the amazon passes under
giant water lilies like a slow road
off this vein of the jungle a
Sateré-Mawé boy plunges his hand
into a glove made of bullet ants
to become a warrior. he will be
paralyzed and hallucinate for days.
his cousin is at the river, cutting
giant water lilies. She has never
worked a job, and never will.
Faraway in Florida the man who
worked the job of president of
Brazil, who has never and will
never do a warrior ceremony,
fills his gut with factory
farmed beef, thinks himself a
man. No concern for the Sateré-
Mawé when COVID found them,
no concern when the chainsaws
come. “It’s a shame that the
Brazilian cavalry hasn’t been
as efficient as the Americans,
who exterminated the Indians.”
(APRIL 12, 1998). Well let him
think that we are exterminated,
so when he sees my Indian sister
in a pricey restaurant on the 30th
floor he dies of fright, her earrings
tsentsak, psychic arrows that pierce
his throat make him choke for he
has seen a ghost.
I hear he's a winner Cash Prize Poetry Contest, Joe Maverick, 6/1/23
Copyright © Sydney Morrison | Year Posted 2023
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