Singing Like Birds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The rum ran out of their ships:
The songbirds, what did they do? Maybe
They ate themselves,
Singing as the housewives wept
For thinking of you—and the stallions running
Like fireworks up and down the streets:
Making a band play over the shell rock—
As the kids came home around them, looking weird—
What was it they had seen all day,
But kidnappers making the sun dance on the shoulders
Of the clouds—
giving them promises of other places sweeter
Than theirs:
As the buds sprang on the sprigs, like little weddings
Over the fingertips of the skeletons
Singing like birds.