Song, Prayer, A Ferris Wheel Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Alma, you are some trick:
I bought you a cake of blue and green: we ate it all:
We who are all of your men,
Alma- we all love you: we all carry your flag, but I just
Want you to remember me:
Alma, I have an empty bird cage on my coffee table,
Maybe it is waiting for you while I sweat it out,
And you ask me all day who is Sharon, Sharon;
But who is Erin, Alma: who is all of these things, and I told you
That I had written some 4,000 poems and in all of them might be found
The zygotes of resin of tears of maybe 4 or 5 girls,
Alma;
And now you are the first and foremost of all of these girls:
Your eyes as wide and brown as two moons circle, repeating and making
Love
Alma, while Anibal tells jokes and fishes:
Maybe you love Anibal, Alma: maybe you love Armando- maybe you love
Your husband too, but he is always with a machete,
While my thoughts are always with you- I sat with you in your dodge
Charger today, or whatever it was, Alma,
While you ate your whopper with cheese, and you told me your husband
Was upset and might even come looking for you,
And if he came then I should run, but I wasn’t really afraid, Alma,
Because see here my gun- Alma, see here my soul fillet for you,
While all of the quietest people go preaching, Alma:
My hands connect in a prayer for you: Alma:
I am not really sure who I am- except I am no longer who I might once
Have been,
And now I only hope that I might be one day for you,
Alma:
A song,
A prayer,
A Ferris wheel.