in the sun, staked to the desert,
the old man shuffles a tired dance
mumbles a song of resignation.
His polka dot shirt is dirty, torn,
and too big. His sombrero droopping,
dripping of sweat.
He sits behind his desk stares, enraged,
i don't know why. Shackles and chains
i'm helpless and he's angry.
"Why are you here"? he repeated. "Why
are you here"? he hissed. "WHY ARE YOU HERE"?
he thundered and stood and paced and stopped
"WHY ARE YOU HERE? You are not the first!
they come and sit and watch. HE GIVES THEM NOTHING!
But still they come
by night, by day,
they sit in the sand and sweat in the sun.
HE GIVES THEM NOTHING! Barely a glance."
the shaman shakes a sack of stones and bones
sings the songs of his fathers, shuffles his dance
probing, desperate, raging eyes
teeth, sweat and spit
"WHY ARE YOU HERE??!!"