The Only Other Woman Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pedaling bicycles through the backyards of
Our graves:
The sun whipping down against the backsides of
The slaves:
The Mexicans cleaning house finally never have to
Move;
Medusas sweeping in with the evening news:
All the short films over the cartoons of latchkeys,
Breathing beside the languid
Crocodiles beneath the shivering eaves: The sky roars
Up for awhile; it flumes like the fountains of
Alma’s brown skin,
But returns to its quiet, and slicks across the windmills,
As my mother washes clothes barefooted in
The disremembered carports, still the only other
Woman I have ever loved.