Back when I used to be Indian 
I am crushing the dance floor, 
jump-boots thumping Johnny Rotten 
Johnny Rotten. Red lights blue bang 
at my eyes. The white girl watching 
does not know why and it doesn't matter. 
I spin spin, eat I don't care for breakfast, 
so what for lunch. She moves to me, 
dark gaze, tongue hot to lips. The music 
is hard, lights louder. She slides low 
against my hip to hiss, go go Geronimo. 
I stop.
All silence he sits beside the fire 
at the center of the floor, hands stirring
through the ashes, mouth moving in the shape 
of my name. I turn to reach toward him, 
take one step, feel my skin begin
to flame away.

Copyright © 2002 by Mark Turcotte. Published 2002 by TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press. All rights reserved.