Footlockers Of Scorpions Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Footlockers of scorpions underneath the
Chartreuse palmettos-
They cut up the birthday cake of sky as the cars
Drive by,
And the dolls lay in the castles of ants and
Sand lions,
And your mother is in the regular house doing
The laundry,
But if you saw her, her eyes would be
A long ways off- looking across the canal
To the hill of Calvary
Where the wolves dance on their hind legs,
And the foxes are the vintirs of their own
Special kings,
And you have some muses here, but they
Don’t know it,
But the airplanes continue to fly lower and
Lower,
Soon the will have to touch the ground
As if entire harems of mirages for their
Narcoleptic lovers,
As the wind blows the weedy instruments
Across the canal again,
And you close your eyes into a blue abyss
Waiting for him to come home.