For Christopher Columbus
He stood on his mountain and sang,
Songs of deliverance and rape and torture,
He sat down and prayed to his lord:
His gold and his silver.
He cried out to his slaves,
To lay down and give up their arms,
For they were to be cut off,
If not an ounce of rare metal was
Derived from the mines.
And he dreamed of sickness
Being the greatest soldier of all,
Taking care of the heathens—
Taking care of his swelling dignity
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