Corn Spam

When H-E was walking around her hometown, and believe you me, her home town, in tow to home, was equipped with a drug store, she did, time to time, see an Injun.

H-E wondered what her responsibility was to a stray Injun. A wayfaring, away, honest Injun.

Maybe H-E, abandoning her basket ball superstar ambitions, Michaela Jordan Kardassian extra a’ spa splashing ‘an, could go to nurse’s aide, drug rehab, get your nails done, your feet, effete, your splitzen reversing, your cursive recursive,

H-E sees vanilla extract bottles and boxes, strewn upon the ground.

The Omaha was the likely culprit, or tribe, of this blast from the past, haunting H-E’s conscience, prodding it– as a penis prods? No. This was what was left of some folks who would have shared, if compared, a friendly but strange guest, under a buffalo nest, to H-E, “long-legged long bird” as this irascible, though darling, brave and blood, streaked beneath a reprieve,

Because Injuns liked their eggs and bacon, their biscuits, coffee, white flour, and fire water.