The Queen's English Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I love speaking the queen’s English
So well, I could never be Mark Twain:
Testing the depths of Mississippi’s lips,
To know the extemporaneous Ebonics
Of rivers- No: My language is hers,
Though sometimes it is better to believe
In the purpose of animals: when they
Leap and nip, the tortoise and the hair
In briars and tar: The fields rustle, and
The children play in lofts of daylight,
And I know her legs run like streams
With trout leaping the mountains of this
Great country, bent at the knees.

In the lights of the university,
She looks so trim, watching the sailors
Get buff at the gym, and when in kindergarten,
Right before rest, the teacher has a story
To tell about grapes, like serpents, twined
Into trees: the ones you can’t taste
Are often the best; I’ve tried to leap so far
Off the ground, for sly is my toothy nature,
Fox not hound; and in such stories the
Vintage is fine, grapes are like her orbs
Spilling with flesh, I turn down the bed,
And douse all the lights, and wait for her
To fall into grasp; and if she hesitates, I will
Take my sweet time, knowing full well
That grapes taste better as wine.