The Good Feelings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My mother approaches me as
I drink tequila and read
Jorge Luis Borges’ “Deathwatch on The
Southside”.
She doesn’t even know how I am doing this,
As a fine mist seems to fall;
And she seems like she could be my aunt,
Or even any one of her sisters,
Even dead:
Where there are hills and hills of somnolent
Sororities next door to the day laborers in the
Orchard,
The despotic chicken coops and children
Half buried by the tide,
And I should be skipping school right now,
Learning to love you over the shoulders and the
Tight distances of classrooms,
But those school girl days are gone,
And here I am twisting wishes over canals like
Bottle caps,
Like brands which everyone uses, empties,
And just tosses away after the good feelings
Are all done.