Indians, embalmed with salt from unshed tears,
too patiently for the ghost dance drum beat.
see them huddled in shadows when sun disappears
the blood stained bluffs, where Custer met defeat.
keening of slain children are what the wind hears
amplifies to ripple the stubs of dry land wheat
Sioux politely plant at the Little Big Horn
baking white man's bread. Braves, now less despised,
two hundred and twenty six scalps and mourn
dead in secret. Grandsons of those unrecognized,
plot and plan when drunk on fermented corn,
for raids George Custer considered civilized.
Bosacker, once a prosperous businessman and corporate executive,
has abandoned all forms of non-altruistic endeavor and now is
dedicated to expiating his past crimes to the environment, people's
feelings, and over-rich customers eager to spend their money for
things they really didn't need. His contrition will be expressed
with sensitive poetry and moralistic worldly tales with twisted
endings. Avoiding payment to corrupt editors demanding meagerly
available reading fees and the usual over-educated literary editors
hobbled with myopic vision, Gerald Bosacker's wit and wisdom will
be hard to find. Keep looking!
place to look: http://www.bosackerbooks.com.