The Fetishes In Her Name Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh burning patina of her eyes is full of capitalism,
Or full of the bull rushes her legs give to her
Privateering husband in the trailer park of
Their night:
How many times don’t they strike out into one another
Like dry wood falling into a massacre of sharp toothed
Mica beside the fast running river
Where the sepia colored mountain lion is also praying;
And I screamed like a cat robbing a train,
Because I wanted her:
I tore off all my clothes underneath the mountain and ran
Through the wildflowers just as sharp as a
Kindergarten of switchblades until I grew faint and
Gave into the occult knowledge in the
Country of stones:
So when I finally awakened I began to trade objects of
Sorcery underneath the overpasses in heavy weather,
Knowing that she would come this way after her
Shift was over:
And that she would have to get by me to return to the great
Unmowed patriotism she was accustomed to;
And I wept for her children while I waited for her
Holding the fetishes in her name,
And knowing that none of us really cared.