Cherie Currie Or Another Feral Young Thing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The wind lays off its blowing and starts
To clap,
Wipes its mouth when it sees the movie is
Over; it didn’t realize,
But was dreaming of the savannah so svelte
With ibex and koala bear;
Then shuffling out on pretty legs, rips the
Soft satin of well-supposed roses,
She tilts her head back and with a gleam
Takes the hallucinatory substance- day trip in
The afternoon while housewives are getting
Their cartons of milk- one for each breast,
And their husbands are getting the same thing
But from an entirely different store;
And a different maid, she refuses ice-cream-
She begins to trot, goes on four legs between the hills,
Houses like coffins with doors nailed shut-
One for every yard, and I try to keep up, but she
Didn’t like the movie I was in, sayings she want to
Keep the company now of her fellow troubadours;
And she’s switching sides, and running any bases
That she finds- The umpires wont be around until
The morning,
And she can go down to the lake and puncturing it,
She can ride its alligators to the sea- she can think up
Stories to tell, and scoop up the feral orchids
And bow, and bow, and bow.