Canals And Ballrooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Retreating by a trail of lost words making
Their way across the
Vermillion apertures of the continent- as if,
Finally, Mexico had really one
And even the angels had changed their names and
Appetites-
Going more naked over the clouds, like schools
Of dangerous fish,
And fighting all of the time: and never going to
School,
But hanging out in the hallways riled up by the
Tornados the victorious gods sent to
To lavish over the land:
The trailer parks made of adobe- the wild cats
Fitful, blue- sabers preferable to guns,
And the conquistadors now all of our mascots,
Resurrected, done up
And trundling with the fanfare of our darker
Redder skin:
Skin of fire, and the cities burning with the movements
Of their dance- so many lovers prowling
Through the yard, clutching fireworks- spinning
And making duels- the canals and ballrooms
Doused and burning gasoline.