To Pen Names Of Other Mirages Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Flowers given to pen names and other
Mirages—
The savage boys who wear headdresses of
The most religious feathers,
And the rainstorms chant
Over the pin wheeling houses—
In the middle of the week,
While the schools are alive
The flea markets don't even exist—
Soft brown mothers well hidden in
The kitchens of your apiaries,
These are for you, I have found outside
While I just so happened to be
Skipping stories—
Crippled though beautiful presents you
Would never find without me,
That you don't even see now
As I am holding them out to you,
And standing in your house—
Soon the star will rise above those rafters,
And you husband will come back home,
Having climbed down from
His latter—and aren't you too busy,
Even now—you have to call your children
Back inside and do your laundry—
You have to turn your back towards me,
And continue in these avenues of your
Usual gardens without me.