The Tangles Of Water Moccasins Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am working in amongst the young trees
Dreaming of a fieldtrip of afternoons
As I sell them:
And I look up into what eyes of housewives there
Are
Backdropped by the pretty, lilac sun
In its primordial sport: there it is in its own
Fieldtrip across the blazing yard:
And down beneath him, along the mesh of
Bucolic avenues, a housewife who was once
Maybe even my mother does her wash
In the grottos of a carport-
As the strangers steal the citrus from the tree
In the backyard,
And the young rabbits go down to play near
The canal in the silky moonlight in
The tangles of water moccasins.