Divine Plan Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The highway is long and here:
There it goes like escargot whispering in my father’s ear,
And I never visit anybody’s house without watermelons.
And all of their spouses could breathe beside the pools
Of their
Fabulous enjambments of houses; and I don’t understand any of this
Alma,
But I just walked the Sahara Desert and suffered through all of its
Baseball games of mirages;
And I just talked to Pedro, Alma, and he said that he slept with you;
And he said that you were in love with Nelson, but why he doesn’t
Know,
And the swing sets are shrinking over my grandmother’s grave.
And I love you, Alma, but I don’t have to tell you,
Because it never snows over Guerrero, and you are hardly asleep in
Bed with your man,
As the planets turn heartily like eggs slipping and sizzling noisily
All according to some
Other god’s than mine’s divine plan.