The Supermarkets Of The Wildlife Preservations Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There they go marching like ants through
The green courts beneath the echinopsis where before
Their words were once beautiful and
Read by kindergarteners-
The rains lapped their bodies as they guessed they should,
And the airplanes leapt straight across their
Entire neighborhood-
The tigers in their yards- the bears on their streets:
I looked out at them shyly from the windows of
My flea market and thought that though they
Were going the wrong way,
Werent they beautiful as the produce was loaded upon
The trucks-
And then the housewives came out well after midnight
And bared their very own breasts to the
Fountains,
And the apiary of bees stung them, ululating,
And taking photographs like tourists reunited with their
Long lost grandchildren in the supermarkets of
The wildlife preservations.