The Beginning Of Established Belief Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Foretellings of rainstorms in the middle of the week- But,

I own this house cash and I do not think of you,
When you asked me to get drunk
And write another poem-

Lawns like teal waves of middle-class Chess,
So far away from the cruel mountains
of Mexico,

Where you were born, before you
remembered,
The tall-coned forests where the monarch
butterflies

go to give birth and to die-
Stamps of membranes stuck to chalk and
veins of rust:

The busses took you far away from there,
Towards a disney world of gringos-

Think of me there,
A terrapin lost with the memories of

Your ancestors-

Evaporations of a crocodile's tear on the wings
of a dragonfly...

and toss the wooden pennies so they are
Lost in the weeds over an illmarked grave-

Cenotaph as an airplane beaten into the surf.

The land bloomes thorned,
The billboards rise as monoliths
showing you the way towards the beginning of
established belief.