The Loveliest Of Stewardesses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There seems to be a song running along itself in a dark
Cul-de-sac,
While I hear noises: some of them my own,
Playing out next to the sea that is going away, spilling
And roiling in the catastrophes
Of the unalarming cenotaphs—until a fresh wound
Can be seen pulsating brilliantly in the sky—
And the last headhunters echo—
Continually—after the girls have already vanished—
Sped up and become the brilliant plagiarisms of
Another anarchist's classroom:
The day speeds by, fed up by the inebriations of the aborigines—
And another professor makes room
For the hidden masturbations: this world seems
A joy as it thrives away—further and further away from
The childhood where your little brother died—
As if even this fallacy could seem to be part of your memory—
Until over the stars the constellations of the anatomies of
Better placed animals were reawakened and sang to themselves
Underneath the broken down school busses
Even as it rained and the loveliest of stewardesses became
Reawakened.