Frontera Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Coming across the frontera is like dreaming:
There is no entry for it in any common dictionary;
And there are no peach orchards:
The flaming sword swings like disemboweled airplanes:
And there are plenty of serpents:
But that is something that I cannot truly express:
Even though I gave Alma three bouquets today before she
Could drive away;
And she has passed through the frontera, and lost her virginity at
Least by the age of fifteen:
Her first son is six years old and she is twenty four, and her man
Has come back from:
Has come back from Guerrero Mexico like another life, like the
Gift of a weapon that joined in the defeating of
The Alamo:
And now sing, and drink and play cards:
My face, perplexing beneath the common day moon, buying
Alma lunch and sitting underneath the fox tail palms,
And letting her feed me:
And promising her my house, telling her how beautiful she is:
Like a guitar or a violin: promising her so many things;
And just as faithful to her as a lion yawning, and still she goes
Back to him, giving me all kinds of nightmares,
And more nights of alcoholism, and phone calls from my
Still surviving grandmother who I don’t even like:
And the rings of disemboweled trees and other things that used
To belong to angels; and now, Alma: and now this….
And now this….