The Phantasms Of Vanishing Holidays Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fishtailed palms yellowed by autumn outside my
Window- feral cats
And reports of wolves: my dogs lonely in a far away place in
Arizona:
I hardly even think of them, so preoccupied with the subtly chested
Muse I make love to underneath
The ceiling fans of my little house with the fishtailed palms
Skirting the outsides of my house
And the same occupations of travelers and pedestrians coming around
All year;
But surely she is tucked away right now, brown skinned with
Her daughter up against a wall- tucked in with a man who comes
From the same state of Mexico as her:
They attended to the same elementary school, though he was a couple of
Years either ahead or behind her,
And so I lay on the floor and count my loose change of visions,
While all of the color leaves the world, like animals encouraged by
A forest fire to leave their very own beds,
Leaving the place that was once of rich abode that now has become
The phantasms of vanishing holidays.