The Streets Of Shanghai Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There is a teepee over the very sport
Of the soul of the waves:
And over that some old chief is riding
Some old bicycle
Just as rusted as the ones i saw in the
Streets of Shanghai:
I will be going back to Shanghai next week-
Going back to the woman I married
So that I wouldn't have to be alone,
And she will sing that our marriage has become
an Ocean,
And over that the sky and moon
And all of the luxuriates of the water fowl
That fall down upon the grottos of her bossom
To bathe next to her heaters and wax figurines:
And we will rent a hotel room next to the Shanghai airport
Where the fields of strangely nettled
Brown-brown grasses twice the length of a
Full grown man have been cleared away-
And make love in the hotel as the airplanes
Peel into the sky,
And skin like stones across the earth where we play
For awhile like wishes who have settled
Into the mouths of cicadas and bullfrogs who have learned to
Sing.