(My greenhorn cousin came to me, beautiful,
with cheeks like red oranges,
eyes like heaven in the springtime,
and feet that wanted to dance.
As the years passed, she became a ruin.
She gathered paychecks week by week
until nothing was left of her.)
Today, when I meet my cousin and I ask her:
"How ya doing, greenhorn?"
She sighs, and I read from her expression:
"Columbus' land should burn!"