Under a ceiling-high Christmas tree
I pose
in my Japanese kimono
My mother hands me
a Dale Evans cowgirl skirt
and
baby cowgirl boots

Mommy and daddy split
No one else is home

I take some rusty scissors
and cut the skirt up
in
little pieces

(don't give me no bullshit fringe,
Mama)

Mommy and daddy split
No one else is home

I take my baby cowgirl boots
and flush them
down
the
toilet
(don't hand me no bullshit fringe,
Papa)

I seen the Indian Fighter
Too many times
dug on Sitting Bull
before Donald Duck
In my infant dream

These warriors weaved a magic spell
more blessed than Tinker Bell

(Kirk Douglas rubs his chin
and slays Minnehaha by the campfire)

Mommy and daddy split
There ain't no one else home

I climb a mango tree
and wait for Mohawk drums
(Mama—World War II
is over . . . why you cryin'?)

Is this San Francisco?
Is this San Francisco?
Is this Amerika?

buy me Nestle's Crunch
buy me Pepsi in a can

Ladies' Home Journal
and Bonanza

I seen Little Joe in Tokyo
I seen Little Joe in Manila
I seen Laramie in Hong Kong
I seen Yul Brynner in San Diego
and the bloated ghost
of Desi Arnaz

dancing
in Tijuana

Rip-off synthetic ivory
to send
the natives
back home

and

North Beach boredom
escapes
the barber shops

on Kearny street
where
they spit out
red tobacco
patiently
waiting
in 1930s suits

and in another dream

I climb a mango tree
and Saturday
afternoon
Jack Palance
bazookas
the krauts
and
the YELLOW PERIL
bombs
Pearl Harbor