The Band Plays Something That We Should Not Have To See Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How many words sent out like doves,
To return yet faithless with only dark streaks in their
Eyes,
Like sentinels but who knows what they’ve
Been watching:
Another line sent out for one or two muses,
Who might as well be still-life on the slab, or married
Paralegals, moving to all parts of the world,
Parceled out like shifting glass in a kaleidoscope
Except for me,
Except for my muddy bed- I am an amphibian,
I crawl back from the carport to the sun;
And I’ve never been atop the roofs of firehouses to
See how they work;
And now isn’t the band marching, but we shouldn’t have
To see them, because we are supposed to be in school:
And there is a really good lesson we can go
Chasing after on or bicycles, like faithful dogs,
While all throughout these houses and the choicest pines,
Her perfumes seems to linger like a poisoned memory,
As the band plays something we should not have to see.