Disappearing Mexicos Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What about autumn, showing himself to Disney World
As the tourists fall down amidst the leaves that are
Changing and the billboards:
If there is someone who I love, she is waiting for the snow
Or she is holding my hand—as I languish
In a fieldtrip I can hardly believe in: the day is in morning
Along the road where we pay our taxes
And our coaches roll against the sea—until we get to the
Places of our amusement where the skeletons are
Laughing in their skulls, and we wait in our serpentine
Rows until we get on the rollercoasters
And disappear so jubilantly all into the hinterlands of our
Disappearing Mexicos.