Premiere Generation Ink.


Tonight
the Indian Association of Rochester-
honored my uncle
for being the richest man in
Rochester--

I am in a room full of republicans
who have claimed my country
as their republic
every indian man needs a white man
to feel richer
but I was brought here to serve food
not to assert my opinion

i was not their engineer
they introduced to all the
rich doctors.
they asked me what my father did-
i told them he runs a porno store
he is the one who keeps the dirty money clean
he is the one who changed my dirty diapers
while my mother cleaned the bed pans
of parents whose children would not take
care of them in their old age

i saw my mother
cry over a dead women
before she wrapped her body
in hospital linen
like a present she was going to
give herself in her old age

and she hasn't been in the bedroom
she shared with my father for a week-
the only thing they have left to share is their cars

and i am void of condolence
because i told my mother we wouldn't
kill her in this nursing home
she works herself to death
in 60 hours a week--

the night shift makes the days seem shorter
and i begin to understand
that calling cards won't keep us together
as i pack myself into a cardboard box
and the picture on the mantle
i can never be that kid again

too old for moving trucks,
too young to start over

father calls me once a week from
Pennsylvania to apologize for being lonely
but i choose to spend the weekend alone
in the basement
of the Indian Community Center
Indian
only by association


Yogesh Chawla

This poem is appearing in the Book
Attack of the 50 ft. Poets

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