Sad Land Of Mary's God Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sad land of Mary’s God.
My scars cast brightly in the sun-
I haven’t any friends no more-
And I am more alive than anyone-
On this vacant lot, this
Eerie weeded stepping
Stone-
Hemmed by torpid alligators on
Either side,
I’ll make my play, I’ll pop my
Gun.
Bright houses rise up richly effective
In Palm Beach Gardens,
In spume and smoke-
And hazy loam-
Like a forest fire of the upper classes.
I haven’t no profession to call my
Home-
And I am more alive than anyone-