The Match-Head's Dream Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve eaten two hamburgers and a piece
Of chocolate cake. I watch the yellow
Dog nuzzling the trash. She would
Make a strange raccoon,
But I’ve already fed her too well
For her to stay up all night:
Which is descending like the curtain of
The diurnal stage now just a shell of orchestral blue
Over the forested cliffs in the southwest,
And one star, or airplane.
My parents are in Louisiana; they’ve
Picked up two hitchhikers and are taking them
Eastwards because they want to see the ocean.
Right now I am hungrily scarred,
But the food has dulled the pain. I am
Sated like a bear, or like a less jubilant
Octopus when it goes to bed beneath the
Coral, ink sack full and unafraid.
Right now I could dream of dimly lit airplanes,
And the stewardesses serving drinks,
Putting on a smile, showing a little bit of leg,
Leaping to and from the thatched webs of light
From overflowing and boisterous cities,
As from my peripheral vision I can see the
Snout of my sleeping dog. I don’t drink anymore;
There are no clouds outside the window,
And next month I will be selling Christmas trees
Again in South Florida, the forest fire of my
Dreaming diminished to a single match head,
But it still burns,
Dancing slowly like a feminine memory
Creeping warmly closer to my fingertips;
But I will not put it out, the little bit of pain,
But will lay it down and watch what it will do
With the rest of its extinguishing life.