Natural Disaster Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tenures of rain and all the world a song,
Girls tramping in voices that get deeper but are
Never more than shallow:
Seemly reflections in the Pentecostal refinement
Underneath windmills which are like
Out of doors ceiling fans: There is no refuge from the
Airbuses of her eyes:
This is her drowning revelry, and she has all day to
Mouth off:
Cloudy sky her canopied bed, she rises like a nocturne
Punching a face in the middle of its day,
Cutting out a harelip of summer, and giving it all back
To us as some sort of perfectly crucified gift
Run over by joyriding cars: This is what she’s had to given
Us for our birthdays:
This is what we’s gots to make wishes on, and it seems
That it is enough to keep us sucking through our teeth,
Our body the road kill of her deluging palaver:
She curves and it gives us something again to believe in;
She bends like a flag in her angles,
And it is enough to put the children to bed in the middle of
A natural disaster.