Thinking Of You Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Canals are plenteous for reptilian angels,
And the moon smears,
But the grass goes all the way down, unafraid-
Not even just a little bit,
And I have slipped my thoughts over to there
Where the trailer parks of coffins reside
And they are so showy,
And they just keep going back and on and on
Through the generations,
Grandmothers and grandfathers of sharks teeth;
And my aunt is here,
Blowing ash on my wrist;
And I am wearing a baseball cap made in Mexico,
And it is all mad stuff,
The serpent breathless in the scarred field will grow
No more friends,
And my mother does the wash, and sighs
And wonders when all of this will end,
But I just keep thinking of you.