The Birthday That Is Mine Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Birthday That Is Mine



Weeks of havoc cannot remember your perfumes—
Or the French poets against the over-perfect canals:
I swear, my wife will find me and have me
On my birthday—
Even if I am not in love with her—It is my art to be
Kind, as the dogs and horses ride their tracks
And the lips blow out the birthday that is mine.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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