This headline:

Indian probe touches down on Moon

Reminded me of this book:

Which contains this poem, which I haven't thought about in probably 10 years. The rediscovery is a deep pleasure:

A Reservation Table of the Elements
By Sherman Alexie

Aluminum

1.

My father quit drinking by use of a simple formula. He bought beer only with the money he saved from recycling the aluminum Coors Light cans he emptied by drinking. At 19 cents a pound for recycled cans, it was the Reservation Law of Diminishing Returns. Nobody can be alcoholic and ecological at the same time.

2.

Little Johnny Wonder Horse lost his fingers on Independence Day when he dropped a lit M-80 firecracker into an empty Diet Pepsi and held the can until it exploded. He ran to his HUD house and tried to open the door for a full minute before he realized he couldn't turn the knob because his fingers were gone. When they asked him later why he'd kept hold of the can, Johnny said, "Because I wanted to know how it would feel."

3.

Standing outside the Tribal Trading Post during a blizzard, there is nothing more beautiful than snow fallen onto the dark hair and braids of these Spokane Indians, nothing more beautiful than snow fallen onto the stray dogs and beer cans still on the sidewalk. If I light a fire in the dumpster, everything will change, transform, reinvent itself. If I light a fire in the dumpster, the Indians will dance, will forget the cold, will dance and forget the cold. If I light a fire in the dumpster and throw beer cans in, they will burn until their brand names are gone and the Spokane Indians will sing all night long, will sing all night long.

4.

Just after Victor told Suzy that he would love her forever he grabbed a random can, took a drink, expected beer, but got a mouthful of ashes instead.

5.

Pick up a chair and smash it against the walls, swing it so hard that your arms ache for days afterwards, and when all you have left in your hand are splinters, that's what we call history. Pick up an aluminum can and crush it in your fingers, squeeze it until blood is drawn, and when you cannot crush the can into any other shape, that's what we call myth.

Hydrogen

Crazy Horse
never died.

Don't you know
he was the one

who climbed on top
of the Hindenburg

and lit
a match?

Read the rest of the poem here.