Until Every Last Member Of The Family Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tabling constellations of fruit: if she doesn’t
Love me,
I want to move to Mexico and become drunkenly in front
Of her sister:
I want to forget all of the promises and lies that my
Colloquial tongue has told me
With the airplanes shooting above the vinegars and salt mines:
The days bereaving the children of existence:
My art failing as all is given up into closing time-
The efforts of my body’s ululating remaining fallen into the
Grasses after the doors of new mothers have closed;
And the traffic is all returned; the Christmas trees are
Sparkling
With silver clouds, the green snakes remaining entwined
Serendipitously until every last member of the family is
Called out from hiding.