The Last Roundup Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Hoodlums of macho circumstance:
I hold up strong swinging in the patina of
All that high school’s ego:
And I get involved with the jocks,
And especially the black men;
And the ginger alligators who are always squinting
Tears like blood.
Then I get a real gun, and the sky hangs down
All thick and retarded.
I get a suit for baseball and some gumshoes:
And a bat; and there are wings crisscrossing under the
Moon,
The cypress is holding out some leg,
And Johnny Dillinger is passing by the window.
Sharon has finished off her own wine,
And Erin’s first lover is playing his guitar:
Little girls are crying gleefully down their water parks,
As they go- Not know that their parents
Are just tourists,
Or from the forts of the sweet deceased that we have
Been so philanthropic as to let them live.