Like Kissing Cousins Poem by Robert Rorabeck

So there is a home down from the
Mountain
Where there are lemon trees highly acidic
In the moonlight
Where wolves never tend to linger,
And old, wizened teachers who sit out on
The cinderblocks,
Puckering their lips at the foxes and whittling
Little dolls,
As there is a broom in this sky above them,
Sweeping all of their old wives to
The horizons,
But the airplanes are lingering- lingering
Like kissing cousins to the weather
Balloons of a sentimental birthday.