The Forests Of Their Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Weathervanes over Mexico,
And some people are laughing on the day of
The dead,
And my love is gone from me,
But the rooster is strutting, red throated underneath
The overpass and nearby the high school
Where the children will fight the children
Today,
And you will go home from work and enfold
Into your home- the only place you know-
All uneasiness,
But welcomed by your children,
As the waves pant creases up to your door:
And I will go to work as well,
Into another world where I will have daydreams of
Making love with you,
But I will not, and eventually the luckiness of
Your echo will recede,
Dried up by the moon- and the scars of your
Footsteps across my house will fade-
So, eventually, the grapes will grow fat and purpled
From being unattended,
And the marionette will be fooled by the cat and
The fox one last time to plant the little
Gold he had into the dunes of the beach,
As the heavens cry over your shadow and then head off
To the forests of their home.