The Hapless Giants Shed From The Movie Theatres Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bouquets in my rusting jaw—and my Mexican uncle
Already home—
Restless and lawless—but promising to cook me
Shrimp—
And my house is his house, and the sandcastles eat
The sea:
The meager dreams of sandcastles built by little boys
And girls who don't yet even know
How they will have to escape school—
In their last ditch effort—
While some strange stag, metamorphosed,
Wanders out upon the beach—and now, what is
This? How did he get here?
He doesn't even know that he was once the king
Of a great kingdom—soon to be the victim of fratricide,
Destined for oblivion—
Just like the history teachers teaching from the portables
Year after year—
Corresponding to their own echoes—
Waiting for their wonder less loves to enter the ballrooms
Where so many crystals lay waiting in the heavens,
Evaporations of the tears
The hapless giants shed for them from the movie theatres
Where they were too afraid to go.