the loss of passion

The Loss of Passion

There is a haze over the sun, sky looks like
daylight coming down into a hole in the sooty
top of a wigwam as used by the Algonquian
speaking natives in the North eastern part of
United States. Roasted buffalo meat is tough to
chew, old Indians have no teeth, they live on
maize gruel and suckle milk from young mother’
breasts they are proud and tell no one, yet we
all know and young warriors hope the will die
bravely on the battle field rather than having to
eat maize gruel and suckle on a full juicy breast.
I’m not a warrior wear my cowardice as a shield
it protects me against the vanity of pride, beside
the milk part can’t be all that bad.