Norm Rourke
Norm Rourke Poems
It sits off the Ruidoso highway
that takes skiers and campers in season,
White washed adobe, red tile roof
and bell that tolls parishioners to prayer.
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Sandy roads snaked through orange groves
before the highway took the land,
Small communities of pickers and workers
lived in cracker box houses with families.
...
It’s just a hamburger joint. Nothing special from the others: Onions mashed into meat patties. Cooking in their own grease. Fries on the side. A crowd of overalled workers. Laughing and talking and eating. The same crowd every day. Ketchup gushed onto fries. Large Cokes—not diet—washes down unchewed food.
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The Best Poem Of Norm Rourke
Adobe Church
It sits off the Ruidoso highway
that takes skiers and campers in season,
White washed adobe, red tile roof
and bell that tolls parishioners to prayer.
Sainted stain glass windows flash
rainbow colors from pure sunlight.
The frocked padre blesses holy water and the poor box.
A bare path winds through the resting dead
to the ancient door.
Ava Marias echo off walls and
the Twelve Stations.
Forgiveness prayers from the kneeling
offered before the body and blood,
Worship ritual unchanged from centuries,
Gives hope to those with little,
Except in this hallowed place.
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5/4/2024 12:28:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
