His Today Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The day becomes really grand holding the books that I
Plagiarize with so many javelins that burn my eyes
While my mother washes clothes in the carport with her machines,
As if it was a grotto:
As if the puppies had survived, and I was good enough of a man
As to look her in the eyes;
But when I got to the flea markets now, I only go to buy gifts for you:
And we made love today, but I don’t have to tell you:
The traffic rushes and the airplanes roar,
And the air-condition crashes against the walls behind the closed doors:
And you did the laundry for your extended family today,
While I lit candles for you and prayed;
And I read poetry of graveyards- and I wrote the poetry of fools:
None of my professors shall remember me,
Or understand that you have become my sharpest and most important
Tool:
And this is your kingdom, your deep brown eyes shine upon,
So famished and so young, that when your love grows in the spherical
Gardens of those twins, it is impossible to know for certain:
It is love for a blind man who loves you that way,
Because he has lost his senses for you, and yet you were his today.