Problems with the nuisances of the favors <br />Of the swellest wives: <br />I remember them standing there like salt licking <br />Deer <br />In their kitchens at cooking time, <br />As their pools were wimpled by the cheery <br />Breath of airplanes; <br />And all of it was so unreal, and in still life: <br />So now I can’t even recall the feeling of myself there: <br />And I have to stand out alone against the stars <br />Who have meandered out of constellations, <br />Making no sense for anybody: <br />The children are lost but happy and on their backs <br />Breathing slowly as if they had found every last Easter <br />Egg and are now holding their <br />Coral snakes like cherished pets; <br />And I watch the n%ggers pointing out the rainstorms, <br />As the airplanes seem to roar like lions <br />Taking off their clothes in the sky, <br />As I see the last light of love from her eyes <br />Botoxed in my mother’s brow, <br />And the little boy becomes a felon of iron pyrite, <br />Breaking his legs before the faith of his dogs up in the <br />Nameless caesuras of those careless mountains.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-careless-mountains/
