The Laundromats Of Her Grottos Poem by Robert Rorabeck

More consistent mythologies
Could have my throat
But I am always in my little yards
So close to
And yet so far away from
Home:
In the aloe, I watch the stray
Cats I don’t feed
Eating the echinopsis of
Red tongues instead,
And I want for Alma,
But she will not be over
Today,
Because her husband stayed at
Home instead;
And this is a gift basket
Of bad news
Thought of underneath the
Common flight paths of
The most common
Airplanes who are hardly ever
Manned by Indians; but it still all
Feels quite strange to me,
And I don’t even have to look away to know
How the candlelight burns down
The wax towers
Just to kiss the halfbreed lips
Of the saltwater princess
Who slips away from the water colored
Tourists, and is fawning right down there
Past the roses at the water’s edge
In the Laundromats of her grottos.