Polygamies I Shouldn'T Know Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lost pageantry of a cenotaph’s art form
Dances in a carousel of hard licks
While the rain makes bereaving motions against
The window in the house where everyone has left;
Where have they gone
With the alligator down against the canal,
The grass mowed
And still smelling of the girl across the street
And the fireworks of truancy just that afternoon-
The burning sugar cane makes a feasts of clouds
In the sky, roiling- roiling with some strange
Gumption,
While the Mexicans move in from across the canal
Living together and warmed by rattlesnakes
Whose smile in poisons of the polygamies I shouldn’t know.