God Bless The Yokels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Park, Mister, and take a ride
To the zoo.
Tell me what I mean to you
In the photographs underneath some
Banyans-
Both of your eyes jungle canyons

Eat lunch near toy boats and
Shadows,
Read post cards tune into football
Battles;
Out in the student parking lot sleep
All day,
Underneath a sky newborn from
The sea, Atlantic

When you write me once a year,
Imagine what it does to me-
Already scarred and hanging like a defeated
Flag upside down from the
Crook of a cypress tree;

So I will climb my usual footpaths
While banging the cookware to stave off
The panhandling bears- and things will grow
Red from boots and stems;
Everything here needs something,
A little pollination,
As I need you- Imagine what that does to me,

When I can’t swim, so I god bless the yokels-
You made me swear off meat and long dinner
Engagements so I
Only eat takeout and tofu.