Travelogue Of My Blood Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This morning all my blood is
Sweating off its alcohol-
All my blood is jogging, and circulating
Its early neighborhood,
Trying to become less reclusive
And more adaptable should any house-
Wife need a transfusion;
My blood thinks of swing-sets and long
Once-studious legs of women who have
Wived college professors in obscure
Northern states,
Who are my uncle, who owns a swell house
Out on the lake:
And this morning my blood is already thirsty
For gibbous moons in south Africa,
And travel brochures to places which swing
Freely from a rain forest and out into the reddled
Savannah;
My blood gurgles through my ears and is attentive
To the things it hears outside boiling,
The lawnmower is fixed and mowing,
Commercial airplanes set in their ways go leaping
Like silver javelin blades,
Never thinking to stop and smell the flowers
Down in the rented meadows where my blood cools
And pools, and matriculates
Through these early morning hours.