I stood in line at Walmart
And thought about the trail of tears.
I thought about my great, great ancestor whose name I do not know,
But that person was the parent, or the grandparent of,
My great, great grandmother,
Alcie Miller,
Who was born in Talequah.

She married an outlaw.
Who could blame her?
He was Scotch, like Sean Connery,
And they had a son,
My great grandfather,
Arthur Graham.

Gramp lived to see Walmart
Come to his hometown,
Lindsay, Oklahoma.
He wouldn't take his Indian land
Or put himself on the role.
He had his own money,
And no, he didn't steal it.
He worked hard in the oil fields
Between Bowlegs and Seminole.
He bought a corner lot on the hill in Lindsay,
And mowed it all himself til the year he died.
He didn't care for government cheese,
And he didn't buy his at Walmart, either.

And now here I stand,
One of many,
In one of the many trails at Walmart
That lead to the place where they take your money,
And you hand it willingly.
And many are crying about it,
But as for me,
My trails have given me
Something to cry about,
So I stand, like a wooden face
With nothing behind my eyes
And nothing ahead,
Because I know,
That all of the human beings
That race from birth to the great finish line,
Occasionally are forced along a trail
Where, we too, will cry.

-jenn