Strip Tennis Poem by Robert Rorabeck

With the daylight dancing
invisible truth in tiny heated
segments of God being played out
through the day’s household,
eons of shadows falling through
the window’s generations, many
parts of her are laid out through my mind.
For example, just last night
while I was jogging in the valley
on the fertile dirt track my father
ploughed to train his horses on,
I thought for the first time
that I’d like to play strip tennis
with her on some rich court in
Palm Beach Gardens; and I
had never thought of her in conjunction
With strip tennis before,
though I am sure I did not invent the game.
And I think of her in any part of
the day with God falling on me
like the spent atoms of the solar system;
Forgetting to shave, the sun
looks like Jesus
when, driving back from the valley,
thinking of her, my belly full and
lazy from fast food, gorged, I’m
ready for a nap, though I just woke
up this afternoon,
I think what it would be like
to lay down beside her,
the natural juxtaposition of sexes
on a healthy bed, to never use
protection when making love with her,
a full exchange at any time of the day,
complete, promises of her children.