Elbows Of The Garden Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Elbows of the garden stretch cantankerously
As I try to look at you from
The corner of my eye—
Brown skinned Mexican, beautiful girl we
Want to steal the world from—
As children come in glistening like traffic,
Shifting through the strangely sentient hallways
Of the earth,
None of them afraid of monsters,
And seeming to know how to get wherever
They are going—they know more than me,
And can even spell words only using three or
Four letters,
Until this pageantry settles down in the afternoons,
Back in the theatres of their own abodes,
Mesmerized by the kaleidoscopes of
Their very own televisions.