Complaint Lodged Against James Wright

I can hear the river complain about James Wright,
how he took the Ohio River in vain,
smeared high school boys with his own shortcomings,

fathered a son who would grow up
longing to be king.
Planting the seeds of false hope

should be a crime,
it used to be so in Crimea
where their ancestors crawled to and fro.

I take a swig and back to nature,
he tells a Sioux to his face,
the drunk Sioux doesn’t know any better, either,

having lost all of his country
to the very white man he drinks with.
Damn the words, Inca’s used knots instead.