When I was a boy
I played Cowboys and Indians.
First I was a cowboy,
then I was an Indian,
then a cowboy who was an Indian,
or an Indian who was a cowboy,
either way, it didn't matter,
Cowboys were awesome,
Indians were awesome,
so a cowboy who was also an Indian,
or an Indian also a cowboy…
Double awesome.
I had my cap gun,
and my plastic hickory-bow.
When out of caps I shot
suction-cup arrows,
when out arrows I
got new roll of caps.
And I was a hero.
Many years later two people
with serious faces showed up
on my front door.
They said I could not
be a cowboy,
because cowboy's had ‘privilege.'
They said I could not
be an Indian,
because that was ‘appropriation.'
I said that many cowboys
were ex-slaves, or Mexican immigrants,
they didn't care.
I said that the Indians
appropriated guns, horses, and writing,
they didn't care.
So I pointed to my gun case,
to my hanging compound bow,
they got the hint, and fled,
calling me names
that ended in ‘-ist' or ‘-phobe, '
but I didn't care.
I just went out back
to watch my son play,
with his cap gun and plastic bow.
First he was a cowboy,
then he was an Indian,
then a cowboy who was an Indian,
or an Indian who was a cowboy,
either way, it didn't matter,
because he was a hero,
and he was double awesome.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hahaha! love it! Thanks for sharing!