From Town To Town Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There lay a shoulder to the sun—
Atop of a giant who packed a six gun:
And the dogs were laughing
As they hunted the graveyard—next to the
Movie theatre—
Next to the museum of our hunting grounds:
And maybe tomorrow I will have
My honey moon in the foothills of the Appalachians
Or maybe really in the foothills of the
Himalayas—
And I will drool in very many primary colors
And count my feet against the séances of very many
Tourists:
It will seem as if I am one of them:
The ice-cream will melt back against the cul-de-sacs
Of my house—
The dogs will run in their race-tracks or the horses
Will run, or the men—
I cannot remember: all that I know is that I have married—
So I no longer have to wonder as the pretty
Dresses of the Ferris Wheels return from town to town.