Carnival Of My Soul Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve been out on the reservation but known nothing of
Its sorrows:
Across the muddy streets trying to move further
Away from my father’s horses:
Into a corrugated teepee
Where I can believe that the airplanes are still angels
Or bottle rockets he cannot sell:
This beautiful world alone with the coyote
Who scents amidst the bricks- where sometimes
A flower will grow, just the beautiful armpit of
A weed the wild dogs love
And the Mexican girls lay across saying that they
Are broken and yet float down the reservoirs
Into the carnival of my soul.