For Another More Fortunate Of A Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Crossing and recrossing the panhandles
We sing like jet planes to orchards: we sing as if we would
Have liked our father to sing to us;
And it all becomes a lesson better left unexplained: As Alma
Resaddles home to her old scars
And open wounds- the cars that pistil there into junkyards
Overly exhumed from all of Mexico,
The airplanes crossing borders sweet on her- while her secrets haunt
Under the highly mortgaged roof of her father:
Her mother Rosa cooks and recooks dinner; but beside the telltale
Fireside of the same old television, it looks all right:
And if there are monsters, they are monsters better left to be battled
For another more fortunate of a night.