Boston, Massachusetts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I happen to be real and in the pains of my immaterial zed novels
I birth the stillborn beliefs of my sterile beauty and religious
Beliefs;
But for tonight, Alma, I kissed the lips of my broken Virgin of Guadalupe
And it rained
And I wanted to bring you fireworks: the fires arced over the emasculated
Sea as you sank into his arms:
And the grass grew up around your house and above its roofs the sororities
Of clouds basked:
While you never made it up the steep avenues to college:
You never even got out of high school in Mexico, but you are still someone’s
Favorite student, even if she wasn’t a good teacher:
And now I am doing all of this as my irreconcilable failure,
Remembering how girls once loved me, and how I held you last Thursday
And led you to my bedroom and undressed you:
Your feet are so small, Alma, and I weigh twice as much as you;
And you have never been to Colorado, even though you claim to have
Take a plane all the way up to
Boston, Massachusetts.