Press "Enter" to skip to content

Seeing Red

In fourteen hundred ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
In this great year of two thousand five
A single hand, red, did strive.
Echoing the forgotten plight
Signs were removed, exiled from sight.
“Indians! Indians!” Columbus cried.
The administration’s heart was not filled with pride.
They were not brave, but held on to their con.
The signs, like the land, were damned to be gone.
The logic was sound, or so they were told.
Right, and Columbus went home with some “gold.”
No words of truth or “history” to scandalize
On signs to sully prospective new students’ eyes.
How is it his day has survived?
This Noble Lie is being kept alive.
Beware that blanket up for offer.
It might be disease smugging enslavement from their coffer.