Post-Modern Conquistadors Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I get cold and homely as I lose my mind.
Soon I will have enough of it,
And I will curl up with some dogs and go to sleep;
But the best thing now is I have so little jealously,
And I am just as beautiful as something that
Is patiently waiting off in its corner of the
Crowded mall,
Hungry, unable to move its legs, watching the
Grounded stewardesses mill,
Watching the sad and lonely video games-
The prevalences of fathers harbingering their suns,
And all the cars waiting faithfully panting out in the
Scalding parking lot,
Ex-lovers learning karate, out of work shoppers smoking
Pot:
I think I once bought her a glass castle I sent to her
In a cookie tin while I lived in Tallahassee- She
Must have smiled and put it away and jogged through
The graveyard, breezy or misty, until the trucks commenced,
And meteors fell far a field hiding their beauty from
The post-modern conquistadors;
And sweet sororities yawned only after the morning
Started delivering things, and I got up and rubbed my eyes
And scars, and fell inward even though my first
Thought was of her.