Her Little Yellow Birdcage Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Alma tried to give me back the keys to my house:
I told her I would kill myself,
And then I didn’t kill myself, and I planted royal palms today with
Her uncle, Romero;
And when the day was over I showed Romero my house,
And he showed me his two homes, and we tried to figure out which of
Our possession was the bigger haul;
But he was the one whose sister in law cooked us dinner,
But I wanted Alma anyways: I have two fruit trees growing in my
Backyard, but I don’t remember what either of them are:
I am not good at growing or cooking,
But now I can walk to the sea in less than five minutes:
I can spit right into the backyards of palm beach and be home in
Time to turn off my lights;
And Alma thought that my house was beautiful: Alma who was birthed in
A little pueblo in Guerrero Mexico, who is a legal citizen of
America,
Who lives with her mother and father and her two children
And her man right off of Cherry Rd two houses down from the little
Park for the bambinos;
Yes, I know where she lives: I have spoken to her in my sleep even
While the tomcats prowled and the fishermen wept,
And now I must be going home: home to my little home which may or
May not be better than Romero’s, only that I paid for my in cash;
And maybe I can’t remember what two types of fruit trees are growing
In my backyard,
But it is of little importance, as long as Alma comes home to her
Little yellow birdcage I’ve made for her and dances, and sings.