Naked and Damp, with a Towel around My Head, I Noticed Movement on the Basement Carpet

Naked and Damp, with a Towel on My Head, I Noticed Movement on the Basement Carpet


Ants invaded our home, our walls, ceilings,
and floors. I killed the little red bastards
by the dozens, but they would not retreat
or surrender. They warred

Like Phil Sheridan and his illiterate corps
of cavalry grunts. And though it's been a
dozen years since I left the rez, its walls,
ceilings, and floors

Thick as a prison's, I recall how to be poor,
that you must punch your siblings and kick
your cousins, and then share the wormy
government food. My war

With the ants was blasphemous. What kind of
profane boor wants to genocide his sacred little
cousins? Shouldn't I share my home's walls,
ceilings, and floors

With any hungry souls? Fuck the ants! I felt
poor again, like a rez urchin, as if a dozen
years of peace and joy had been destroyed
by the war

With these terrorists. Tell me, what's worth
fighting for? I killed and killed my ant
cousins. I protected my home, my walls, ceilings,
and floors, because the rich must always
make war on the poor.


Sherman Alexie

from his book FACE.