Of Its Beautiful Animals Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Hiccupping into a world of blue nincompoops,
I watch the Mexicans walking the earth or at least
Lake Worth east of I-95,
While I ride my bicycle searching for that special oil
To anoint your feet:
Alma- while your body is a fire-hydrant gone explosive,
And the world needs new words for you,
While your children bask like happy pups and seals
Underneath your lovely penumbras;
And you know all of West Palm Beach, because you have
Been here for seven years,
Even while your bad man was away in Mexico for a year;
And all of the secrets of your body I may know, but
Not the spirit that lives like a holiday in there:
The thing that can’t even be proven, but which I know is real,
Because it is every park, and ever Ferris wheel that
I have ever known to exist;
And when I kiss your lips it becomes my every truancy;
And each of your ribs is missing inside me, like a zoo missing all
Of its beautiful animals;
And now I know that I am all right here, but how are you doing,
Alma; and where are you?