To Kansas Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There is nothing here to describe-
All of your senses in a frenzy of windmills-
Nothing without color, fireworks that weep for
The dead stamens of earthquakes-
A mousetrap of madness, my belt in your teeth,
While we amputate your social engagements:
The buzzards are beautiful, beating around the bush;
And we can kiss and make up in the aloe collapsed
Beside the carport
With the rebar and platoons of frogs and terrapins,
My mother like the Virgin of Guadalupe,
Coming out fresh-titted to be zapped by the open-
Faced extension cord,
Like a water moccasin kissing her shoe-less foot;
And then she is collapsing into Pieta without a child to
Hold there,
Juxtaposed next to you and dragonflies,
And she wants what you’ve got- but when have you
Ever cared;
And you make love to your man as the traffic of tourists
Comes in-
The snowflakes are as large as elephants and just as easily
Frightened;
And they are closing the roads down to make a creche of
That winter wonderland:
You are above all of our heads, your hands as smooth
And intelligent as beavers dams;
And if you awakened suddenly frightened, and said enough
Of this,
Well then it’s only a few well-placed steps to Kansas.