The Arid Hills And Scorpioned Deserts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There are serpents here whose love is all for the flame:
They come awake and gossip
And gossiping become famous;
And the cars roll on under the overpasses and beside the
Flea Markets where I buy you jeans and
Dresses that you wont wear;
Because you look like my little sister before she hit puberty;
And I can watch you beside a fire hydrant entertaining naked children
And sunlight,
And as I told you- then everything is real, and I am back
In school again:
The hallways are echoing with vast carnivals and young darlings
In rollerskates:
And I can just go on and on, living in those daubs of
Unrealistic truancy;
And if I happen to venture too far, I can open a window in my
Car and smell you;
And it evaporates me home; or to the park where we jogged
Before we made love,
Holding hands and sweating, as if we were a family in which
I could use a stolen triangle to call you home to dinner,
And I could protect you through all of the hours
Of the night,
Giving off magic gifts and signs to protect you from the dogs
Who weigh almost as much as you,
And whose hungrier and more feral cousins must have stolen
Children away from your village way back in
The arid hills and scorpioned deserts
Of Guerrero Mexico-



Alma.