On The Reservation

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On the Res

Born on the reservation
Of my own tribe
Smoke the old rituals
I am the brave.

No need of any war-paint
Silence is brave
I am but a man of our klan
Blood reddened barb

The trap is a tight one
Caught by two tines
There is fear on the outside
Loyalty within

See, we were sent here when beaten
We’d just lost enough
Thought we’d only lick our wounds
To this res we’re lost

Lost our olds ways, of work and play
Don’t feed ourselves.
Surrounded by their foods
Disguised as our own

The reservation is circled
Firewater lights
From the heights you can see
Campfires of the siege

The old ways are out dying
Trapped in these lives
It’s hard to keep your ways living
Served by your young

This tribe of the scarlet hook
Red hook red brick
That once caught our own fish
Now government cheese

When there was work out there
We did our best
Times of scarcity are plagued
By neon liquor

We braves fight right back with their tools
Capitalism
Fill the need, scratch the itch, sell wampum
Market freedom

Unauthorized free market
Cavalry comes
Merx, Phizer, methadone, Viagra
No competition

Fort Apache in Brooklyn
Red hook houses
Circled by snipers we live
In fear of the union

Abe Lincoln’s largess, traded to suburbs
Highways fly over
Cars full of white boys come for the crack
They scamper right back

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4 responses to “On The Reservation

  1. Thank you. Your note on occupied Cyprus (http://mpress.wordpress.com/2007/05/18/trnc/) reminded me I had written it, and I found an old photo from one of my runs to illustrate it, though it is Queensbridge, not Red Hook (the distinction has meaning in NYC).

  2. reply to your nice comment on spade:
    The photos and notes have some relation that no one except a few knows about that, actually I took that photo “spade” in the morning of casino night! And that photo holding lots of stories and memories

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