Symphonies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I choose to read my poems today,
And shirk the duties out beneath the sun,
Then I will surely come to you again,
Where you might be filling your car with gas,
Your eyes flirting with the day, leaping like
Little birds over the roving avenues,
Or you might be so hung over you can’t even stand,
But lie down deeply breathing the luxuries of your man;
So rather than to think these shy thoughts,
And of the possibilities too ready to exist,
How your lips blister from the heat of a devil’s kiss,
I shall rather finish up this little snack and walk outside
Again,
Let my faithful hounds leap and snip at the hair on my
Chin, For I can believe the wounds of hurricanes go
Far away, and your lap dimpled by your navel flapped
Over while driving in your car,
Or your hair tucked over from the flirting breeze,
As you watch the surf slap the shore, uproariously epiphanied;
I should not come down your way again, for
The sunlight’s legion of spears shines protectively,
And I should become a shadow less man,
Hypnotized by your forgetful symphony; Rather, let me
Roam outside and move upon my duty,
And let the day stretch far and wide, singing its own
Glorious symphony.