The Space Between Themselves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There is the carport waiting patiently
Even as the rain floods the weedy gutters,
The unused lawnmower brushing against
The rebar,
As my parents make love inside a little house,
As my muse steps inside to him:
Haboobs are reawakened across the Arizona
Desert and nobody buys anymore fireworks:
The angels are all dusty,
Coming down from all of their trucks-
They say nothing to my pitiful face-
They go indoors again
To carouse and drink: they keep the space between
Themselves,
As down from them, the ladies kiss the
Toads that are coming in from the busy highway,
Trying to figure out if anyone of them has
Money enough to pay to be a prince.