The Cats In The Cinderblocks Cleaning Their Young Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How to begin something else anew without seeming
To be disillusioned:
I remember attending college many years ago
In the middle of central Florida, but a little ways up the road:
And always being alive in the early mornings,
And camels were grazing on the mirages in the early mists:
And I’d caracole past your house and your friends
Guffawing in the back yard seven times like a lucky if
Uneven spell; and I doubt you’d even care to answer even now:
But you smoke and your tits are like melons little fairies live
In little light houses that liked to be squeezed by your
Suave and tattooed sailor men;
And now I might just be going home in time for turkey,
To play with the toy boats always bashing their brains out on
The scaled coasts;
And touching myself that way too in the cliffs of the washing
Machine, my back turned to the blue Cadillac my mother
Drowned in,
Getting off on the satisfied ululations of the toads all mucky
Tongues and the cats in the cinderblocks cleaning their young.