Everything That Has Wished To Be Stolen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Arriving reasonless in the center of
The country—
It feels like a washed out fairy tale now
That the girls I will not love
Are not here:
Only my mother, because she will not
Leave me,
As I scramble up the mountain
Like a capitalist of horse shoes without
Any friends—crying for her,
Not realizing that she already lies
In the heart of a strawberry field that
Has been picked clean for the season—
And so she slumbers, waiting for other
Stories or for me to impress her—
But I don't know what to do—
The moon must be large by now—
The turkey and the pies must be ready:
But someone has set them where they cannot
Be found—
The moon like a thief, like a detective,
The horses beneath her eating everything that
Has wished to be stolen.