Naked Eros Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If there is somewhere a wheelbarrow as red as naked
Eros,
Filled with cut flowers bought where they also sell bread
And Lipstick;
And if there are hands, even if wearied-
Weather-locked hands of a grandmother or one of
Her many daughters- twins -
To take all the sad flowers up to boot hill to put on the grave
With rag and polish for the stone;
Even in the eye of a hurricane, or on a weekday afternoon
While truants are flipping arcs on the green,
And talk shows run gabbing through many a lonely living
Room,
And furtive husbands come home with baseball bats of liquor,
After they have spilled so much rum on the red diamond.
Now there is only a coyote loping into the mist,
Unafraid of his own name, smelling under the bleachers the salts
Of snacks and sex,
And the memories up on the hill whipping like prayer flags,
Then what need is there for these words,
What need is there for words at all?