Unfurls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Traffic unfurls like this line of poetry;
It unfurls like a snail, or like the ribbon for
Her fairytale hair: she should be beautiful, ’
But her eyes are his, and like pearls, peeking
Out from underwater. She swims all day
To and from work. The power lines hem,
And this tells a story.... This unfurls like a story
Crumbled and curled in the aloe beside the carport
With the rebar and poisonous toads. And I am
Writing without the aids of liquor, without a drum
To store by, and with it to sell. And this is a poem
About cars, big and beautiful and affluent, and the
Woman in the store, break necking her shadow so
That her hair unfurls like a ribbon, like a long vase
Pouring silk. In fact it cascades, and gives reason to
My fingers and there is nothing more to it. In fact,
That is all, and I should lie here on my back and see
Her here, through the dreamy spokes of a Ferris Wheel
And give all of this to her, as she drives away streaming
The pennants of a winning team, busty like the goddess
Learning to fly and exchange her elements. She flies right
Over houses and their apexing roofs, and silent brooms.
She curls into Cadillacs, and over misty baseball diamonds.
She sleeps in hotels and in parking spaces freshly painted
In that easy geometry. I spy her and how she moves,
And write this even as she unfurls.