Their Happenstance's Gold Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Impoverished bodies- you roam, as wolves reintroduced
Themselves into your abandoned home:
Your wives, your daughter- forgotten and swimming inside
Pools,
And sloping down from there: canals, and canals-
Lost toys floating away-
Cenotaphs of conquistadors half dredged up- languidness of
Pain and broken chastity:
Girls on roller skates who once hoped to make their own
Music in the rain,
Now with scabbed knees, weeping weeping, head down
In the palmettos- taking sips form flasks of the
Half escaped dwarfs:
Latin graffiti on their broken down bodies- tattoos of never
Found boyfriends
And windmills:
And looking up there, funneling across the soccer field
That some poor Mexican just mowed:
More of the horror coming down the yard, souping up the song
Birds, killing away the hours,
Peeling away their innocent flowers, their happenstance’s gold.