TOMMY WOLFEYE

Tommy Wolfeye

Tommy would  quietly
spend his lunchtime during
the hot summer days,
sat outside at the bar.
People would pass by him unnoticed
A sandwich and beer his daily fayre.
His steel grey eyes missing nothing.
I would give him a casual good day
his eyes lifting to a small cloud formation
his head nodding an affirmation.
He was trying to be all American
he was of course an American
Father of Scottish decent
mother a full Cheyanne Native American.
In the inner city heat and grime
A small bird landed on his chair
Knowing his Native heart held
no danger for it.
He silently broke bread from
his hamburger bun and it gently
ate it from his open hand
leaving without a thank you or goodbye.
What people could not see was
Tummy’s thoughts and dreams.
A clear sky with two Eagles
soaring over the mountain.
The thundering of buffalo
in numbers too large to count
The braves smoking the pipe
around the fire telling stories
of the battles won in time past.
When a man was free to breathe the air
to hunt in the Forrest
bringing food for the coming winter.
Watching the respect of his woman
and the children.
The owner of the bar appeared
and shouted Tommy from his dreams
a cloud darkened his crystal eyes
A sadness replaced the contentment
on his chiseled face.
“Get these barrels loaded
you good for nothing injun.”