Mexican Field-Trip Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In this Mexican field trip of my beating heart:
Words and feelings recycled
Like an infant abandoned into the dusky aphorisms of
His shrinking front yard:
His parents sure to be bringing home
Fried chicken, calling the cats from the barnyard and
From the moonlight,
Leaving little sign of witches—but the
Narcolepsy around them immense and getting busier
At its job:
A new year filled with pets and Christmas trees,
The still wet hearts of valentines,
And the lonely paths home through the vineyards where
The foxes sleep amidst the hibernating apiaries:
Because, here, the incentives grow
All over the place, and especially low enough to reach.