In The Middle Of One Of Her Many Flights Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Falling into the dunes,
GI Joes worn into cenotaphs,
Equalized into the desensitized conquistadors,
Underneath so many oceans of vanishing moons—
The pornographies
Stacked into the cars that cannot run—
The heat in prisms,
The housewives in love with their
Banana fish—
And another world across the canal—
Like Mexico,
Or the jungles of a systemic opera
Cut away by the floods of baseball games,
And the tangles of highway—
A tear drop of sweat on my wife’s tit as
She sits down in the tiny yellow living room
Across from me—
And a few more words from now,
Another heart be
As I imagine my son’s lips touching her
Areola another way stewardess may imagine
The taste of a sand dollar somewhere
In the middle of one of her many flights.