The domed dwelling
in the town square
is still used by the local tribe
for ceremonial purposes.
Rain dances mostly,
even when the river’s
overflowing its banks.
They always draw a crowd.
And kids, unlike in my day,
don’t point their fingers pistol-style
and pick them off one by one.
Some have tried to camp out in it
before the cops moved them on.
And one guy even accidentally set fire
to that wickiup
while trying to light some reefer.
It’s part of the local color,
goes in all the tourist brochures
along with the local history museum,
the hanging rock,
and the stream that flows backwards.
There’s even a Wigwam Motel
and an ice-cream parlor
shaped just like it
that boasts fifteen different flavors.
One night, so rumor has it,
a couple made passionate love
on the ground outside its entranceway.
It rained for days afterward.