Into The Aforementioned Princes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Each day in her echoing clay poets
And dogs:
And the princes in her carport ululating,
Looking up to her like a goddess as she strings
Out the clothes to be washed,
As the lightning shakes the orange tree
Like a little boy who has tied his own shoes
Above his head
And walks out in the mud to the open tongues
Of alligators who would be laughing,
If they knew how to feel:
Here there is so much joy it is on the verge of
Drowning, and the frogs crowd her like
Tadpoles, encouraging her to remember
When they were just tadpoles as she bent
Down above their shallows admiring her own
Reflection,
When they thought for all this time that she
Meant to kiss at least one or two of them
And at last turn those lucky few into the aforementioned
Princes.