Not Another Turn Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How will it feel when they go down in love’s arms,
After friends and relatives have told them that they should-
That she has gone and left me for the boat,
And ever since I have done my best to lose my charm
And sink amidst the dunes she has no right to follow into,
The memories are mostly dead, ripped and scattered
And under root; but there is no liquor in her stead, no
Room for anything but emptiness- They have gone away
Like I’ve said, taken the bus down to New Zealand,
All the girls are dead and I am toast;
The men are fishing deep in the cliffs, but all the girls
Are dead, floating on weepy breasts;
And I am dead (but dry) , but for this little thing
Ticking out in my head maybe Morris Code- I should
Have looked out for them, I suppose, I should have called for
Help- Too caught up in the thorn and rose that the neighbors’
Planted- I corsage their yard and the bee kisses me:
I should return this morning, or hand them their paper in the
Least, for word is that she’s returning, returning softly weeping
In the east. I guess she left from in his arms, or maybe she is
Just taking a break. Maybe she remembers how it felt
Down in my arms, but I could not feel her deliberate returns-
Could not feel my dead loves concerted rippling;
I could not answer her to tell her that I was dead,
And will go down into the dunes to do no work:
I am left of all my charms, and all the girls are dead, but one
Says she is returning, but I have left off all my naming charms,
But will open my eyes one morning under the rosy thorns
And let the bee kiss me as it should; but not her, because I am dead
Come morning.