In The Rest Stops Where The Water Falls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Naked in your truck,
Startled across the asphalt with the purple
Ribbon and barrettes dying in
Your hair-
Looking at yourself in the adulteries of the heavens,
As the rattlesnakes continue telling
Whispers to the cotton mouths in the canal,
And then you go home,
Or you go somewhere: but wherever you go,
You get more and more tragic,
And doll-like,
And I wander if you can even remember that
Day I slipped a hundred dollar bill in your
Back pocket while your sisters
Were waiting,
Because all three of you were going to the mall
Like a lucky but uneven number:
And now I sing songs for
You I cannot even sing,
As the beautiful throat of the world opens up
For the both of us,
And we continue holding hands down
The bricked paths
Unafraid through the blinding forests,
As the lions whistle and the
Angels roar
In the rest-stops where the water falls.
Naked in your truck,
Startled across the asphalt with the purple
Ribbon and barrettes dying in
Your hair-
Looking at yourself in the adulteries of the heavens,
As the rattlesnakes continue telling
Whispers to the cotton mouths in the canal,
And then you go home,
Or you go somewhere: but wherever you go,
You get more and more tragic,
And doll-like,
And I wander if you can even remember that
Day I slipped a hundred dollar bill in your
Back pocket while your sisters
Were waiting,
Because all three of you were going to the mall
Like a lucky but uneven number:
And now I sing songs for
You I cannot even sing,
As the beautiful throat of the world opens up
For the both of us,
And we continue holding hands down
The bricked paths
Unafraid through the blinding forests,
As the lions whistle and the
Angels roar
In the rest-stops where the water falls.
Naked in your truck,
Startled across the asphalt with the purple
Ribbon and barrettes dying in
Your hair-
Looking at yourself in the adulteries of the heavens,
As the rattlesnakes continue telling
Whispers to the cotton mouths in the canal,
And then you go home,
Or you go somewhere: but wherever you go,
You get more and more tragic,
And doll-like,
And I wander if you can even remember that
Day I slipped a hundred dollar bill in your
Back pocket while your sisters
Were waiting,
Because all three of you were going to the mall
Like a lucky but uneven number:
And now I sing songs for
You I cannot even sing,
As the beautiful throat of the world opens up
For the both of us,
And we continue holding hands down
The bricked paths
Unafraid through the blinding forests,
As the lions whistle and the
Angels roar
In the rest-stops where the water falls.