Treasure Island

Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Under Each And Every Feet


Laying in the hedgerows, nose red with rum,
The rattlesnakes despising the cotton mouths up from the
Banks of the really torpid drainage:
The sky all blue with shark’s teeth and shark’s wounds;
And you are in school: you are learning how to hit the town;
But you don’t see that the sky is cooking above this
Feathery esplanade: each blade of grass a vermilion wing under
The fine shoes of housewives:
They are in the kitchen nooks tipping glasses up to skies,
Bosom sore with their new retinues, their little kids like little rabbits
With sore red eyes;
So the clouds gurgle and spume: they are living evidence that
Bodies move up from the shores of the earth, up from the grove
Lands: All gathered from the teeter-totters; the middle ground
Is their changing room,
And now they are in the sky cooking up something sweet, and
We are looking up, the housewives and I as well, while the
Various menageries of despised serpents curl under each and every feet.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 07, 2010

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