Author Information
Indian in the garage
When I was a child
I would press my hardon
against the back of a girl my age
that would sit Indian style
in a moldy garage where the ground was all dirt.
The dirt had a thick layer of mold
on it but we didn't care.
She was the helpless Indian
and I was the bewildered yet
anxious cowboy.
There was no supervision,
just us 7 year olds playing down the alley.
There were old doors stacked
next to each other over in the corner.
There must have been 15
of those things.
I remember wondering if each door had a different
place behind it.
I was too timid to find out.
I was happy rubbing my hardon
on the back of the Indian princess.
I had no idea what I was doing.
I had no idea where to stick the
damn thing but I knew I wanted
to stick it somewhere and bad.
She would smile and she had
little gaps in her teeth and a lazy eye.
You could smell the moist earth.
It was delightfully dank as
the sun would pass right over us
and we never knew it.
We just keep playing
pow-wow...
sticking, jabbing and rubbing our way
into the future.
Ray Strickland Jr.
2010
