The Weathers Dressing Their Weddings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now the bodies are gold and the fish are lost,
And I have my own house:
I work at my parents’ fruiteria which spans almost a block:
The cars and airplanes go their own separate ways,
While I miss you, Alma:
So much that I am curled up in a ball on my floor listening
The air-conditioning and the other untrue bluenesses of the world-
While I have been to the crests of mountains,
While you have never been to Disney World: when there are so many
Places I would hope to take you Alma:
Alma, I want to hold your hand in mine, as we walk through those
Places,
And place my tongue together with your silly places, and call you fine:
And call you mine, Alma, whilst the electricity makes love to the
Lightning on the trams, Alma, and we can follow their
Sparks all the way home,
And make love in the jubilations muted by all the boisterousness of
All the weathers dressing their weddings in so much rains.