THE HUNTER |
| Written by a Wyandotte Woman Oniena Onda |
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| Five fingers on my left hand Four and a half on my right It happened as I cut up the caribou The blade spun round slicing and dicing Through the shoulderblade of the dead meat. I blame it on the anger that came, Because of the laws from people who have no clue, No blooming, fluming clue Of the life I live and the lack of store meat, or the cost of steak That is flown thousands of miles and is old Before it’s cut and sold on the shelfs. I blame it on the ignorance, Of the man in the blue suit with the soft hands, And his ulcers caused by a life of waste, by his wants and desires With the clinking crystal as he sits at the table Moaning and groaning about his bills; the bills He made, because he had to keep up with his neighbors. I guess I have no real complaint; I would Rather have my nine and a half fingers and caribou Than his ten fingers with ulcers. |
| The Kotzebue Sound as it begins to freeze |