The Last Stand, 100 And Some Odd Years Ago.

The last stand...100 and some odd years ago.

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Somewhere north of here... 

on grassy plains like these 

Custer made his last stand. 

It was there he found new meaning 

to the word savages.

He was made to understand 

the Red man's rage .

His men were skillfully 

surgically butchered 

the whites of their eyes 

rolling back to infinity.

Their final cries were not unlike 

those of the great buffalo wailing

and bellowing pain 

in the heat of the hunt 

as spears rent their sides 

knives disembowled 

and lead stole their hopes 

as well as their lives 

so sadly misled.

I am sure each warrior 

chose to allow Custer 

to be the last to fall.

They delighted 

in his frustration, 

guerillas playing 

with a tired general 

and he was the holy grail 

the golden flax 

his hair like spun sunshine 

a fitting trophy worthy of a god.

The stench of gunpowder and blood 

entrails and shit 

and freshly spilled urine, 

the smells of unwashed sweat 

and fear ripe and 

pungeunt assailed him.

Firing blindly, instinctivly 

through the dust clouds 

until hammers fell 

with empty clicks 

metallic drum beats 

that shriveled his scrotum .

He scrabbled 

desperatley 

and grabbed 

any weapon from 

those fallen beside him 

to fire some more. 

As visions of his 

life, his wife 

fine wine and the 

sweet taste of venison 

urged him on...alas 

it was all so futile 

the only retreat was death.

I'm sure he felt the first 

of those skillfully

rendered hand tools 

flint arrow tips 

crafted to kill by 

ancient methods.

They swiftly

silently pierced 

his mortal flesh 
as they flooooshed...thwack! 

woooooshed...thwack 

winging thier way 

to lodge within 

his arms...his legs..his chest,

turning his own 

heart to stone. 

I do not know 

which warrior 

counted coup 

upon his corpse 

claiming the fame 

of his demise.

But I believe there 

could have been 
a better way to 

share the lands 

as equal partners 

people creating together 

a nation without shame .

I know that 

somewhere 

north of here 

on grassy plains 

so much like these 

todays American Indians 

have been on "Wounded Knees" 

ever since that fateful battle.

They never got 

thier final stand 

as Custer did 

to die a glorious 

honorable death.

They were led off 

to barbed wire 

enclosing parched 

lands most depleted.

Many now dwell 

on reservations 

with Bingo parlors 

and casinos.

They sell small victories 

to the white men 

while taking his 

most prized possessions 

from gamblers on 

leftover land.

Some are resigned 

now to the facts 

that their lives are 

worth much less to us 

then even Custer's 

scalp could bring ,

but deep within 

the souls of others 

true warriors wait 

and dream of freedom 

such as their 

forefathers enjoyed 

wishing their wrath 

could be deployed.