Incident in Hell

American Poetry Review, The, Jan/Feb 1997 by Rakosi, Carl

Incident in Hell

Our ancestors were happy when the white man came. We made him welcome and took care of him.

When he was hungry we fed him. We never did him any harm.

He seemed honest

and we trusted him, but once he was settled his words became as flimsy as fluff from a cotton-wood

and he acted like a coyote around a hen-house.

There was no limit to his greed and cunning.

His soul glared the way an owl glares at a covey of quail-chicks.

He had no mercy, yet he said there is a God.

Who is he?

Who sent him here?

With that the old chief, his face lined with dignity, said no more

but the agony in his eyes was like a caged beast in the Inferno

as it struck bed-rock: kill or be killed

signed, Playboy of the Western Hemisphere

Alas, old chief!