Remembering Her Alamo Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I love monsoons, its because they curfew
Mon freres,
Down in the river walks of San Antonio, where
The tourists paddle, and take snap shops of the
Alamo,
And little white boys can still pretend they can be
John Wayne:
I care about pop-guns and grape soda,
And getting laid beneath fireworks before I thought
I was going alone;
And I am going to die- I’ll become a red savage
And die somewhere in the neighborhood of your cleavage.
Your perfume lingers,
But in my playground the savages always win anymore;
And the alligators smile and wear expensive wrist watches
Which first caught their eye in billboards above the
Long and lonely highway; but now they’ve gotten here,
And they have a good job and are getting married by the
End of this Holiday,
And everything I love about you I wrote down in a postcard
I sent away- I’ve stolen the lovely rose from your hair,
And given it to the lonely river; it hardly ever moves anymore,
The tourists go across her so slow and easy;
And they ask her to bare children and name them after the heroes
Who died there.