The Beatifully Illiterate Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A petit coral snake burring somewhere in the delicate
Flanks of a faithful whelp:
And I am waiting for the day when the meek shall inherit the
Earth,
Uncle, I am waiting for that while I sit in the darkness
And listen to the crooning of the under carriages of airplanes:
They shoot like the most faithful of dreams over the lightest
Atlantic reams,
And the stewardesses upon them are so eager to get all the way
To Europe,
To serve in the fuselages that come so easily it is as if they
Are in the backyards of when they were little girls,
While the privateers of whom I have forgotten every one still had
High hopes for them,
While Alma was still doing god knows what in Guerrero Mexico,
Down in those primeval hills where the dinosaurs roamed
Without a thought like the chickens outside of the forts of
Conquistadors; and I can feel you there,
Sweeping the coquina free underneath the unabashed pines,
And holding up your daughter as the sun returns to its birth,
And the last of its rays cleaved across the beautifully illiterate earth.