Alma, I love you, but you know that, <br />And that isn’t that I want to be to our game: <br />You shave your armpits and I kiss them: <br />I leave dewy mollusks there underneath the swing-sets where <br />Your children will play; <br />And you shave where they were born too, and now all of this <br />Is just something else, <br />Something that was made to be forgotten, while my ancient uncles <br />Water ski, in their little sports, and my other uncles <br />Make money: <br />You work for them and I work for them too, and it all seems to be <br />Happening for us under the moon who isn’t shy, <br />For she seems to be pulling us upwards from under our arms <br />As if we were demigods and she wanted to kiss us: <br />Now who is your father, and who was my mother too: <br />But they were together in the natural pools in the bosque, <br />Even before my mother could sail airplanes and then look up to the <br />Higher slopes where in the savage and but also most nearest weathers <br />Our father Zeus was calling down the lightning bolts and <br />Making the skrees and stones whisper to us of all of our most <br />Christian names.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-father-zeus/
