Giving Back To Me Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It’s magic,
How you trap your children in the
Glass beauty we all faun in:
Soon they will know every avenue they should
Proceed down in
To avoid the monsters drinking cheap
Rum outdoors by midnight:
The merry-green eyed darlings
You shouldn’t see, you shouldn’t have
Anything to do with;
But I’ve come back from the sea outside your
Soul,
And you shouldn’t know,
You shouldn’t see, you shouldn’t have anything
To do with me:
Because, I should scar your soul slightly on the
Cheek like a poisoned kiss,
I should invade your house and stock your green:
I’ll engorge of the sea-life
You reflect from your eyes back to the television,
Because I am very vigilant at doing
Bad things, and I’ll spear you up for a close gaze
Without blinking,
Make it so you can’t breathe,
And I’ll hold your child in one hand like a slender doll,
Like a ward of the high altitude earth,
And breathe things into her to you shouldn’t see:
You should just go away
Back underneath your abominable mythology;
And I’ll keep your child long enough to feed her ice-cream,
And return her to you screaming all the way:
But look,
She’s learned how to walk, and she can sing to you all
The songs I’ve forgotten into her,
Breathing the dying embers of an epoch off forgetful things
Plagiarized of life-like stills of your eyes
Which are even now giving back to me.