So the coolies of the solar system take nasa's probe to the moon for free, and get oh so excited about their role ... *It takes a great poet like Eastlake to do this event justice.* -ZADesk "Whitey's on the Moon Now"<http://thelaverytory.blogspot.com/2009/07/whiteys-on-moon-now.html> In honor of today's 40th anniversary of the Apollo landing, here is William Eastlake's sardonic prose poem.
WHITEY'S ON THE MOON NOW William Eastlake I had a Papago Indian intellectual friend over to watch the first man on the moon. The Papago Indian intellectual brought over a Papago Indian cowboy to watch. "They are about to land," I said. "You said something about beer." "Wait." "What for?" "'Till they get on the moon." "Are they on the moon yet?" "Yes." "Can I have the beer?" "The white man on the moon said one small step for a man and one giant step for mankind." "That's nice," the Papago cowboy said. "Can I have the beer now?" "What he means," my friend the Papago Indian intellectual said, "is that his people are starving. He's not interested in the white man on the moon." I got the Papago cowboy the beer. The Papago cowboy, now that he had the beer can, smiled, "How much did it cost to get to the moon?" "Forty billion." The Papago cowboy smiled and shook his head at the white man on the moon. "What he means," the Papago intellectual said, "is that he hopes they are happy on the moon." "Who's that?" the Indian cowboy said. "President Nixon." "Why." "He says it's the biggest thing since creation." "Why?" "What he means is he hopes President Nixon is very happy on the moon." "Would you like all the white people to go to the moon?" "Yes." "Never come back from the moon?" "Yes." "Would you like some more beer?" "Yes." When the Papago Indian cowboy got the beer he thought awhile and said, "No." The Papago intellectual said, "He means why do you want to destroy another planet." "Curiosity." The Papago Indian cowboy thought about that and laughed. "He laughs because the Papagos are all cried out," his friend said. "They will bring back moonstones," I said. "Will they kill all the people there?" the Papago Indian cowboy said. "No." "Put them on reservations?" "No. Because there are no people on the moon," I said. "Will the white people come back?" "Yes." The Papago Indian Cowboy got up. "Where are you going?" "To the moon." "Of course you can't," the Papago intellectual said. The cowboy sat down. "You see," the Papago intellectual said, "the Indian would very much like to get off this planet. If you will not get off his land." "One small step for a man on earth . . ." "And forget the moon?" "Yes." "What he means," the Papago intellectual said, "is he would like another beer." That is why they call my Indian friend an intellectual Papago. All over Arizona they laugh at him because he does not want to settle for Overkill Rockets at Tucson or a dam on the Grand Canyon or the London Bridge over Havasupi or for mankind to take its first giant steps on the moon. "Why can't they take that first step here?" the Indian said. "Would you like another beer?" "Why can't we take it here?" Like all Indians my intellectual Indian Papago friend and the Papago Indian cowboy are mad, not mad crazy, but plain damned mad. Not moonstruck. Just two hungry, angry Indians watching Whitey on the moon. The great American people Lived in the Year One. Two was a good year, too. Every year was a good year Until the white man showed With an axe. Now we come to the part Where America was cut down. White wild men, Savages With blue eyes Pink asses And guns Erected Royal Crown Cola signs, Massacred the Indians Shit in the creek, Left for the moon Without so much as a Thank you for the use of this Planet. When those three spacemen Were burned alive at Cape Kennedy The black men thought, now They will give us a chance To Fly, brother, fly. But the space program is still All white. You can't dig the moon Until you dig the earth. Whitey's on the moon now. Isn't that a kick in the ass? Soon he will be on the sun. Burn Baby Burn Saw a man going to the moon the other day He was dressed in a neat moon outfit. The kind of person you would want your mother to marry. Going to the moon is expensive So he must be rich, American. A rich American Moonstruck Bastard. The moon people Who don't believe in God, Have no respect For the flag, So Thou Shalt Not Kill Does not apply to Indians Or Moon people. Pass me the gun. How far will the revolution go? Will it extend to the Indian reservation? Yes? Will it extend to songs? Yes. Our poetry? The women? The children? Yes. And it will go beyond that to the Enemy. And it will go beyond that to the Land. The earth that has been wounded Will be made good. And the water that is Black Will be made good. This will be a conservative revolution. We will tear down the black-pluming Smelters that smelt lives And return the earth To the Earth And the air will be made good And we will see the moon We lost In getting there. That explosion of silence You hear from Indian Country Is just the Indian lying Low Until we blow ourselves Up. Then the Indian will Come back And in quiet amaze Wonder How we took so long to Kill ourselves, When we were bent on that >From the beginning. When the white man arrived Here the white man had had already departed.
