Robert Rorabeck

Veteran Poet - 1,996 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Her Princes - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Erections of school yard monuments.
I read to love, but who was Shakespeare anyways,
But a conspiracy;
And I am the child of a farmer, and a basket maker;
All around me the city divides like the gears
Of a clock, and
Dances,
And moves the skeletons underneath her gowns like
Steely fish,
Like gears of a clock; and in the park they are out of
All the roses I once wanted to
Prove my virulence of affliction,
And the paper snowflakes move like stone-hearted
Mailmen:
And what is that I am doing but trying to become a popular
Mode of transportation,
For her heart, for her steaming rooms:
For her bodies glory, the newest and brightest of all heirlooms:
And she is going up to the trains and blowing kisses
For rides,
But how many boys can take her for their brides:
The polygamy of her sports makes even the rains weary-
I wanted to love her in the rock gardens where all my childhood
Fairies were pinned like stalwart religions,
Like badges and stars on a general, but instead I wept for her alone
On the corner of her garments in the depressing patios
Where the cars glowed and the toads bit their tongues
Never even pretending their could be her princes.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, February 7, 2010



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