Our Father Zeus Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Alma, I love you, but you know that,
And that isn’t that I want to be to our game:
You shave your armpits and I kiss them:
I leave dewy mollusks there underneath the swing-sets where
Your children will play;
And you shave where they were born too, and now all of this
Is just something else,
Something that was made to be forgotten, while my ancient uncles
Water ski, in their little sports, and my other uncles
Make money:
You work for them and I work for them too, and it all seems to be
Happening for us under the moon who isn’t shy,
For she seems to be pulling us upwards from under our arms
As if we were demigods and she wanted to kiss us:
Now who is your father, and who was my mother too:
But they were together in the natural pools in the bosque,
Even before my mother could sail airplanes and then look up to the
Higher slopes where in the savage and but also most nearest weathers
Our father Zeus was calling down the lightning bolts and
Making the skrees and stones whisper to us of all of our most
Christian names.