american mind games

american mind games

i chopped down my genealogy tree
to make a canoe,
to paddle up this river
with my toes in the water.
i wave my pipe
when i pass by ‘ol huck,
and share a potbelly chuckle,
one mutt to another mutt.
someone said, my ancestor’s are dead,
some people say, my way was murdered.
but i don’t need to know about that
to see sunshine on a paddle.
how could my ancestor’s have been killed
if this bow strikes a chord
in a crooked old river
every time i push forward?

chumahan