The Stained Glass Of A Broken Church Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The car swerves between the red cliffs
In the bosoms between my sisters and my parentsâ€'
The sky an accentuated mirror of something
Going on beneath it'
I am headed to Phoenix, to dry gutters'
A desert of plagiarists 'apartments rising like mirages,
Seeing things that must be similar to what my
Grandmother must have seen growing up here'
But dissimilar 'good for her asthma'
And the citizens of the illusionary plains, now that
The citizens have all gone 'evaporated into
The blankets of chicken pox'
And my own mother weeping over a horny toad
Like a pieta over the stained glass of a broken church.