To Find Her Play Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Creams of eerie pastures- the delicacies behind open
And nude glass,
Like fixtures of lime trees beneath which the stranded mermaids
Bask,
Telling of the times when I used to devour books- when
Foxes were young and glazed red
And danced like tailed fire from the open lips of their
Story’s bright cave:
Now, galloping- robbing banks, I cant even stand too sentences:
I drink liquor to gas the tank,
And I recite to Alma all the palpitations of my bloodied
News:
While her uncle makes live to her aunt back in the pueblo
Where she finished school early
And then went out barefooted on the open rocks and found
The hidden spring where the rattle snaked basks:
And bending, allowed him to kiss her forehead until she was
Beautifully scarred: and he was the gentleman
Returned to her neighborhood novella that showed up every
Afternoon in her adobe living room,
Chivalrous as a windmill drawing the sweat off wild strawberries,
And entrancing lazy foxes, seeing as she would no longer have to
Travel so far a field to find her play.