and my fourth, or fifth wife, a Cherokee, got rid of one

by using some remedy her mother brought with her

when she walked the Trail of Tears.

I did not hold that against my wife.

I thought she’d change her mind,

but she said she was too old,

said I wasn’t worth a damn and she was right.

I strayed again. Found myself another Indian gal,

a Choctaw mixed with white.

She was fourteen. I was sixty.

I thought she’d conceive, but she was barren

and died from TB when she was sixteen.

After that, I met Fannie, a full-blooded Choctaw,

who finally gave me two sons.

They both hate me.

I don’t know howcome.

I only know I’m an old man now.

Looking back on ninety-five years with some remorse.

A woman is not a horse you can trade, sell or shoot

when you get tired of her.

I realize now that it’s too late

a man can learn from his mistakes.

A few good women is all it takes.

DISGRACE

I was drinking scotch and water

when my daughter got home.

She was wearing the graduation dress

I bought her at JCPenney.

It looked like it had stayed on her,

and I was relieved,

because I had imagined her

lying on the backseat

of a beat up Ford

as the Martinez boy put his you know what

you know where.

The dress was too old for her,

a black, velvet sheath

with a big satin bow in front.

I told her I wouldn’t buy it, but I did.

I shouldn’t have.

Now I tell her, “You disobeyed me.”

“I told you to be home by twelve midnight.

I don’t care if you just graduated

from high school.

You are seventeen and living under my roof

and it is three o’clock in the morning.

Guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson,”

I say quietly, although I want to yell.

That’s when I trip over the vinyl hassock

I bought at Levitz Furniture half-off

Christmas in July sale

and fall flat on my ass.

“This is nineteen sixty-five,” she says,

“not the Stone Age.”

“Don’t sass me,” I yell finally,

as she runs in her room and slams the door.

“And don’t slam that goddamn door.

It gives me a headache.”

These days you can’t tell a girl nothing.

She thinks she knows everything.

Got those Beatle records, them Rolling Stones

and what not.

All those white men. I don’t know

what’s gotten into her.

She’s going down a dangerous path

on roller skates, yes she is

and I’m all that’s standing between her

and disgrace.

Ever since she started men’strating,

I have dedicated my life

to keeping her from getting pregnant

out of wedlock.

All a woman’s got is her good name

and there’s always some worthless man