Unusual Sin Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When I smoked near the canal for the first
Time,
From a tinfoil bowl made from rolling it around
A number 2 pencil,
All it did was made me slightly horny,
And the reticulated python slightly curious:
She came toward me with the usual jewel green
Satin eyes-
They were dolls eyes, you see, she had borrowed,
And she floated for awhile, her tail dragging along
The earth and making the
Most curious of markings: She was so bloated from
Eating rabbit she couldn’t any longer
Fly around the forbidden fruit trees:
And if she was a woman, I would have wanted to make
Love to her,
But all she did was dictate me across the reptilian
Shadows of the canal, and then across the sugar cane fields
Along well past rush hour, and into smoldering
Crepuscule,
And she showed my the ways that all things must die,
How they lose composure and molecular cohesion,
And I poked my phallus into the moist rows,
And afterwards she came along and dripped in her
Glowing seeds of venom-
Whatever grew there I never saw, nor did the cypress change
For me into beautiful girls,
Because I grew too old and bought a car,
And I never smoked again,
And after I had gone the poor roots of transplanted Australian
Pines collapsed and block the way,
The dead fall I guess god pushed over to hide my truancies
Of unusual sin.