Three Children Prompting Death Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Three children prompting death- skipped school
Together to look into your eyes,
And you just smiled as if you didn’t believe in death,
And the ice-cream man didn’t come-
The air-plants didn’t bloom- The liquor was watered
Down,
And the swing-set didn’t arc high enough for any
Of the children to tickle papa’s feet:
And I laid out somewhere at the bottom of Michigan
Listening to my great-uncle water-ski,
His powerboat making the noise I would like you to
Make if I could pull your motor,
Put my tongue to your pistil and steal what is necessary
For a florist shop to survive;
But I still have both of my legs, and even scarred the pain
Is not great enough to start a fire from fiddling sticks:
Yes, the star falls, the planes die,
The UFOs pick up strange hitchhikers, but it is yet not
Enough to realize the bloom of the cactus flower,
The strange ornithologies my father whispered last in my
Ear as he took up his walking stick and struck out on
Your trail, hoping to prove the sweet adulteries which
Were never for sale in any store in his neighborhood;
And even then your eyes turned away,
Gesticulating long-lashed upon other men who sat like kings
In other hemispheres even as they too turned away.