A Few Tourist Moments in the Black Hills

Winding roads around this ponderosa playground played up
To obscure scars of horse-days battles, bloodbaths
Over stolen lands still traumatized by miners sucking veins
Of Mother Earth for her gold jewelry.

The tragic stain of intruders’ quest for furs and gold
In the deception of uniforms and guns blurs
Any respectable outcome to hold on to. 

We wander along placard-bombarded streets and highway
Of magic traps that beg to show us caves and strange wonders.
We pass signs of battle sites that document the wounds
The crushed endured in the blunders of the swindlers.

We glimpse an injured biker and later view the carvings
On Mount Rushmore blatantly showing the stone busts
Of four victors of the land they swore to conquer.
We ignore the signboard eyesores and head eastward
With sunset cooking at our backs. 

-         C. S. Cholas, May 4, 1974