The Abandoning Natures Of Their Own Front Yards Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now you've ridden your horse victoriously from the battle
And shouted something in mestizo—
Made a tomb out of what once must have been my summer—
Blinding my eyes before I could see you wandering somewhere
Aimlessly through the portables outside of
Art class—you were either skipping history or social studies—
In a state of southern Mexico—
And in the night, the lamps fell upon the laughter of the
Children of the skulls—and you turned your eyes
To the delights of dead theatres
In the alleys that were as stunted as dwarfs—even then,
Your skin was perfect—and you became pregnant with your
First child as you lost your virginity in a classroom of
The frontera—while the airplanes were always creating espionage
Above you—I don't even know that they ever believed
In what they were doing—or if they were supposed to—
And when I somehow found you, wasn't it already too late:
You would make love to me, but I was already defeated—
And you run on forever, victoriously whooping—
And hypnotizing chickens as you found them—
Swinging them in your arms and calling your children to
Come and see them—like real life miracles happening
Out in the abandoning natures of their own front yards.