Without Even Smiling Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to walk to your house
Again, Alma, and sleep in the roofs and look down the blouses
Of the red throated mailboxes,
Because I have hit the conclusions again, Alma: but I don’t have
Any movies in my house,
And I am a citizen of the united states of America, but this is not
Your country,
And I wonder where I look at when I look at your eyes,
But I cannot possibly see those places and I suppose that is why
I am no poet laureate:
I just croon my feast, while Romero heads west with my father to slay
The infinite beast,
And then he will go south past Chihuahua and catch up with Tanya,
Who is Mierna’s Sancha:
But Mierna is my beautiful aunt, Alma: and I hate to think of who
You will be sleeping with underneath the wash basins of those
Milky eyed stars,
While I invite the coral snakes up to my wrists like bumble bees to
Drink my blood like pollen,
And to lay me low in those soft grottos where your mother cleans
Without batting an eye: without even smiling.