Into The Months Of Noon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Into The Months Of Noon



I am your sadly resolute countryman
Erin,
Kept higher up on the taught purple hillside:
I have been tending the golden sheep
The heroes keep trying to barter from me
With locks of your hair.
And it is a shame that tomorrow I should have to
Go down into so much humorous swelter,
And traffic with those muscled tourists;
And I wont even be around,
Because I am not a model specimen,
And I will go through the day mostly dejected and
Past over,
Thinking about you, Erin- A specimen of Plato’s
Theology,
A red hot candy all f%cked up- And then I will be
Back up again,
High in my lonely bed,
Masturbating, trying to remember the few Easter Eggs
I thought I found in College;
But if you really loved me,
You’d lay off your extra-curricular tea-parties
And come and make love to me in my upper bunk,
Because I am not beautiful,
But I am honest and simple- Erin,
Don’t give up on trying to be
A good woman:
There are so many saddened colors to farm,
And our children would take after you,
And our sheep would shine back to the infantile moon
The tremulous swaying of our buxom love making
Far into the months of noon.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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