The Rocky Spittle Of Your Bay Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am too much an amateur to trespass your shores,
And mingle in the calligraphy of the little sea snails,
Though my older brothers might leap and play within
Your lips’ matriculations for nautical hours,
I only eat ice-cream from the beach in the lucid
Light of day,
Though your dress is sweeping beneath your bared breasts,
And you are swooning as best you may,
The children who go into you are too young to know
The way you kidnap them in your womb,
While the ships harvest your cornucopia’s spume,
I lay amongst the rocky spittle of your bay- Your
Charm is in the hypnotism of your dance,
And the sculpture of your lulling waves, but I would not
Want to fall to scorning chance,
Thus I only read amidst the rocky spittle of your bay,
Where the sea-doves cry from your romance,
And the man-o-war scatter like suffocating electricity.