Immaculate Lapels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Airplane on Christmas- you are my
Present:
You are how I managed to be here, open
Armed,
Waiting for the divine providence of
Something,
As the light held my shoulders even though
It was growing cold,
And the movie theatre was a cave
From which echoed the dancing of
Pretty pictures that should never
Have been made-
As it comes around again: as the jungles grow,
And the eagles fly over,
And the waves become surreal as they try
To kiss the angels-
And the stewardesses fly over them-
Their fingernails painted like sherbet and
Marmalade,
Their pantyhose seamless- and their pilots
Wearing copper wings in the geometries of
Immaculate lapels.