Both Our Virgin And Our Mary Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My hats are off in support for the congratulations of
This country:
And to the forts who have been saved, or who have been conquered
Brawling in giant squares which dwarf the tenements
And the trailer parks with their brisk fires and
Cauldrons of beers:
But I have stolen my hats anyways during the Mondays when we
Were all right here,
Waiting knee deep in the torpid estuaries of semi permeable
Fairytales- with our knuckles
Clenched around the tangles of mangroves and jungled fairies
Through the torn down wall
Where even our best men were defeated by your dimpled brown
Breasts who’d hiked so far from Mexico,
Your fingers the forks of snakes curling through the water breaks
As they tasted the vines of our hearts:
And reach up, tore us down like weeds, as the overeager wind
Tares down the tents over fireworks:
Making us work doubly wearied, so that we could only come home
To you, just as with what happens to unrequited beauty at the
Summit of gravity:
Baring our muscled forearms and our wind milled tattoos,
Admitting to you that we were your day laborers, and the whippoorwill
Songs from our throats were not contrary- and on waterparks
We had walked for you, as if coming down from the parks of soft hills,
Seeing your soul through your unmarried chest:
Alma- For you were the only woman for us: both our virgin and our Mary.