Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

Indian Corn

Gerald Bosacker

Dead Indians, embalmed with salt from unshed tears,
wait too patiently for the ghost dance drum beat.
I see them huddled in shadows when sun disappears
over the blood stained bluffs, where Custer met defeat.
The keening of slain children are what the wind hears
and amplifies to ripple the stubs of dry land wheat
tamed Sioux politely plant at the Little Big Horn
for baking white man's bread. Braves, now less despised,
hide two hundred and twenty six scalps and mourn
their dead in secret. Grandsons of those unrecognized,
still plot and plan when drunk on fermented corn,
vengeance for raids George Custer considered civilized.


Gerald 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!

One place to look:

© Gerald Bosacker

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2012