Powwow Ghazal

Powwow Ghazal


Can you hear the drums?
Can you hear the drums?
Tonight, the reservation is aflame
with drums.

Who’s that drum group? They’re good,
but they’re kids.
They have no idea
how their lives will change
with drums.

And what about those drummers?
O, they’re old school.
They’re everybody’s elders.
They’ve gone gray with drums.

O, listen to that singer!
He’s equal parts joy and hurt.
His hands and vocal cords
are bloodstained with drums.

Damn, look at that fancy dancer
spin in circles.
She’s weeping!
The girl is going insane with drums.

Who’s the head man dancer?
He’s been sober for ten years.
Now he only gets drunk, stoned,
and dazed with drums.

Who’s the head woman dancer?
That’s a grandmother.
She speaks in sermons.
She offers us grace with drums.

That jingle dancer, ah,
she’s a reservation beauty.
Talk to her, cousin,
because you can get laid with drums.

That nostalgic Indian is wearing
blue suede shoes.
He’s the Indian Elvis,
mixing his pomade with drums.

Hey, look at that tribal cop
with a shiny badge and gun.
She wants to solve a crime.
She’s Sam Spade with drums.

But don’t forget that powwows
can be dangerous, too.
You better duck or get punched
in the face with drums.

Do you have a question?
It can be answered here.
There is nothing that can’t be explained
with drums.

No, I’m lying. Indians are glorious deceivers.
We love to obscure, obfuscate,
and exaggerate with drums.

During powwow, even God wants to sing and dance,
So God makes thunder, lightning,
and rain with drums.

Nobody has gone to bed yet.
We’ve been awake for days.
I sometimes think that every Indian
is made with drums.


Sherman Alexie

Posted over on Blackbird