Two Soft Matches Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When Sunday is finished how does it
Metamorphosis into a school day, unless it is
Labor day—
And where does noon go after the stewardesses
Have flown over—
And with the sunset, the words of the housewives
Silenced,
And the candles gone from the birthday cakes
That have been eaten—
Traffic slows to the speed of canals—
And, of course, the lions yawn, but there are no
More tourists about to see them going to
sleep in the facsimile's exhibits—
And the love you once showed while brushing
My lips with your lips—
Two soft matches against a rose—
Only the albino's darkness found us,
And called us children who could not see, or
Believe that in this very tomorrow you so quickly
Went away.