Doing As She Does Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Muses of my species, like paper airplanes lost in
The metamorphosis
Of the rain:
What will I do with them, like dryads sunbathing on
The other side of the canal as the sugarcane burns:
What can I say to them from here,
Shooting off my offerings of fireworks
And sugar starts:
Burning all of my army men in the armpits of
Bonfires:
Offering a mouthful to the clouds where the
Stewardesses live,
And all of the time checking themselves, leaping
Like fables themselves from house
To house,
And doing their laundry out in the carports like
Grottos that shouldn’t have to exists:
Why then it was here anyways,
And the nocturnal rain comes, and the frog princes
Sing, and the oranges somehow grow like
Globes produced from the flowers
Of her lips that perfume the backyards of all of our
Childhood as she keeps on doing as she does.