Peter Pan Is A Fairy Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As I fall down a million years,
My kids draw a dragon on my leg-
Taking turns in bivouacs near her summit;
a dead man begs
A missing fortune from the stars-
The spaceships crumble into the sea-
As the dead Christmas trees are
Picked up on Satan's streets-
A new world is thrown into the void
By a drunken Cupid:

By New Years, the kites are racing the lit fireworks-
And every misanthropic poem finds a bosom,
Waxing into the new basins where
We are going:
The lit candle of a dandy's centerpiece melts her
Tears until she goes blind and is forgotten.

Born into her memory,
A beautiful family hibernating in a
Cul-de-sac populated by wolves,
My calve becomes a cenotaph of ivory
Upon her foaming breast:

My son leans to tattoo the paper dolls
As he sh%ts:
Soon he will be assigned a seat in a school of
Ennui's snobs who are
Not even that rich:

It is as if into a time machine or into
A wishing well they are thrown:
Faberge lights collected after the riots of
Adam and Eve have burned down the
Vineyards of the heavens:

And the black men are sated in the strutting
Atmosphere,
Recalling her verbiage to their thorny lips:
They taste the stolen vintage and
Are calmed-

My children,
Promising their love to me
From across the street,
make a Ferris Wheel of a prisoner's eyes:

They dance furtively beneath the power-lines,
As the reindeer turn into echoes,
The corner stores are sold out of their holidays,
And everything left over fades from memory
Or is burned.