The Colors Of This Thievery Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Daycare underneath the swing sets—knowing all
Of the colors of this thievery:
Only one or two words found out so far,
But there will be school tomorrow across the highway—
Not far from anywhere—
And you will come outside of your house and look
Across at the orchards,
Or up to the apoplexies of skies not too far from
The power-lines anyways—
And not pretend to wonder what it means
To be in-love,
You are not so confused with the goings on:
Mestizo—as it is your right to be:
Child of conquistador and Indian—product of
Rape anyways—
No wonder how it was that you had no problem
Coming up to my door—
There might have been blue feathers in your hair—
And I thought we made love,
But you were too busied to stay inside—
And so you went home to the man you've had two children
With even though you do not love him anyways.