Persevered Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Well then I fought the monsters
And then I fought their
Young:
So like tattooed stewardesses with
All of their body scars:
And they were so flexible,
And they were gymnasts—or then they
Were entire constellations
And we were hanging around until Christmas
Across the easements—we were
So easily hung up—mouthless—song-bird less,
And I swore that you could not describe
My last monument towards you:
But the way to you turned out to be in echoes
And skateboards while the alley cats
Were cleaning their mouths of fried chicken and other
Uncertain forget-me-nots—
Dastardly awakening upon the frontier between here
And Mexico,
And why won’t you awaken—muse with my better
Parts and brown, brown shoulders,
But now it is too late: the men you know
Are already playing golf and it is almost Christmas
And this is the way they sing,
Song birds in the body parts taking their own
Orchestras for themselves: because I don’t want to
Fall asleep—to go forever into the bedrooms
I cannot afford,
And some enlightened hemisphere slips over
The graveyards and the children, once again,
Are arisen over the forlorn places where they were
Qualified to have persevered.