More Infatuation Than A Prize Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Midway after everything else has gone:
Taking you through an empty lot where enjeweled elephants
Once trumpeted up to the sky,
Foreboding of hurricanes—the Ferris Wheels turning,
Long necked, seeing the herons flying into
The long kneed nests of the everglades
And every sort of traffic passing both up and down of
Here:
And your soft brown fingers and palms encreshed in my
Ghostly wishes:
Your children soft asleep, and even airplanes asleep
In beds of tarmac—pilots and stewardesses asleep
Inside of them
Will metamorphose inside of morning into
Things of business and of sex:
And you are gone—leisure that was almost reel—
Following your husband even though you do not love him,
Abandoning thoughts of my—and the flower
I have found—somehow still with roots—with more
Infatuation than a prize.