Like Present Underneath The Christmas Trees Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Stalwart Ferris wheel—now another
Song for you: you are a mirage of a fairytale
While I am selling
Christmas trees—the patrons come in
Underneath the palm trees and
Buy Frasier firs from North
Carolina and
Michigan—at night we sleep in the trailer
Whilst the rattlesnake coils up next
To the rebar—
And the horses run without a thought of
Holding their liquor—
Like the abeyance of the homeless men
Up against the torpid cathedral of the canal—
And this is just another song for them—
While my muse has disappeared into the
Hoof prints of her usual echo—
Not a beautiful thing by any means—but
She is with her children underneath the bowers
Of orange trees,
And that is all that matters, like tourists
Underneath the billboards, like presents underneath
The Christmas trees.