Officer Bob roamed the streets of Antelope Springs,
the way a hyena cruised the plains of the serengeti, in search of a baby impala’s bones to break.
He navigated easily in town, comfortable in the knowledge that his visage would never be a color bar for him to cross, or cause him any personal discomfort to, or from, anyone else. After all, was he not like Mastercard; accepted, and welcome anywhere on the planet?
In his secure height, and in living from day to day; officer Bob wore his malignant intolerance on his sleeve, or perhaps more like a cheap pheromonal after shave.
It had a scent that stimulated a primal response,
and was voluptuous to the nostrils of the majority of his people.
Officer Bob had not seen Dwayne Notah, Mr. Navajo college grad, around town the last couple of days. He was hoping to run into his new friend, Sonny Ray. Officer Bob wanted to give this
Sonny Ray, a friendly Antelope Springs welcome. Instead, he ended up pepper spraying a few homeless guys, to kill the rest of his afternoon, but officer Bob was really hoping to find an indigenous impala. He cruised slowly thru the now empty student parking lot of the local college. Officer Bob spotted his baby impala, walking down the lonely sidewalk, near the border of the campus reserve. Borders however, meant nothing to officer Bob, as he poached the dignity of others, and wore them as invisible scalps, on his black patent leather utility belt. He was a young college student, but an indigenous one nevertheless. With his bullet launcher, and acrimonious rhetoric firmly in place, he exited his cruiser predetermined to shake him up, and put the unchrist like fear of manifest destiny upside his filthy heathen head. Yes, he opted for the road well traveled; the thin blue line of heritage and hate.
Officer Xenophobia would make the most of this official stop,
to impose his musty, and unseemly manifesto upon any, and all, who dare enter his border, his world, his country. ‘This land is your land, this land is my land,’ officer Bob whistled as he worked, slamming the young Apache man from White River against the hot hood of his police cruiser. “‘From California to the New York island, this land was made for you and me,'” officer Bob hissed into the young man’s long hair.