Your Amens Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The neighborhood is becoming gentrified,
And this isn’t the first rodeo she’s been too, but you can still
Step outside and see the motorcycles being ridden away
By graduating bicycle thieves;
And there is only a little bit of winter metering in the
Unkempt eaves-
Here we will be upriver from my old girlfriend, and we can
Send her things, marble packages of paper rings;
And I can send for my dogs, and they can come with their
Swift lives burning,
The tails churning and flagging through the air, cutting
Like faithful tarps across the street,
Never minding the injustices of men; and we can sell grapefruit
And cantaloupe-
I could pollinate your stamen and turn our grandmothers’ graves
Into apiaries of queens and their slaves;
And then we’d postulate every night and press our hands together
Like baking things,
And then I’d put my tongue to you and press and feel and say
And taste and smell your amen’s.