Four Feathers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Flamboyant childhood, I have lost you in a swamp,
And the four boys down on their cerulean lane making love
Too early to see when I come around at midnight
In a plastic boat, but where are they?

Spread across the country with nothing on their minds,
Not even drooling of devilish nostalgias of high school-
Not a single one of them with my scars, my dark future,
The only fire escape is kept in a drawer with a cold mouth
To kiss-

And another poem to keep me trucking up to
Another sun- Another night with the dogs, and a roof
But no one at home: no firm legs to cross, to drink with me
Beneath the blood-banks of stars, to light off fireworks and
Mark the padding of wolves,

There is only this- the sad unction coalesced from
Blessed fingers, but not another soul to divide with me, to
Settle down with near the remains where the river flows.
Not another stanza like a wooden vase carved into a crutch,
To carry me down the hallway where I still smell her,
And where those boys go yet laughing.