Satisfied With A Christmas Tree Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Monoliths underneath the streams of dragons and railways
Up above the clouds—
Floating metal honed into constellations and gentlemen's fancies
Above the domes
Of college and sports—as you hang your head out of the
Blue lights of a bar you've worked at for
The same age as my students—
Brown as the autumn of your libations—all of the tricks out of
You, but seeming to never be married—
My sad art still pines, like dark embers satisfied with a Christmas
Tree in a house that has already burned down.