The Virgin Of Guadelupe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Flood of a song—lilac at the foot of my bed: meager art
Wasting away as you do,
While outside they are having fun—they are betting on the
Highest stars which are just amusements
That will fade like ours:
As the overpasses come alongside of our bed posts—
Racing headily next to the anthills
As paper snowflakes fall—illusion of a world of foxes leaping
In the lamps of a zoetrope,
Making zebras of barber shops—it rains a little,
The engine idles,
And the Virgin of Guadalupe sits at your doorstep waiting for
The cat to lick her feet.