My Favorite Monster Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Proficiencies north and south of the
Mississippi,
All these lines I have drawn are the
Corrupt calligraphy
Of my face smiling in its daylong dreams,
Through the satin laces,
The spikenard, and the motor races:
A mask that knows how to bite its inner
Cheek,
The peckerwood hope that you will come
Floating to me,
The wife of a papier-mâché samurai with
Shortcut bangs:
In this sympathy of crickets I make my
Dark parade,
I bow and gesticulate and caracole with my
Weapon of choice,
My eyes the dark poltergeists no longer amused
That you’ve done finished picking apples
From the top soil of my dungeon,
Pulling my stodgy roots;
Now that you are floating in your wedding ship
Across the crenulated sheen like glossy sod
Slicked across a meaningless highway,
Like a high-blown wreath,
I realize I must have you again well kept,
Attending to my estuaries,
Decorating my lawn like a car, even if you are
Only my favorite monster,
My dreams aren’t even sad without you.