In Their Grottos Of Carports Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Slow despotic merry weathers under the tunicates
Of the zoo and her ever soft tributaries:
Glass bottles being blown open like flowers from their
Long necked wounds,
As we held each other today, the bed springs
Playing the long entwined legs of our
Amber harpsichord,
And I saw churches in your eyes, Alma- even as you had
To go away and open
His doors, your children coming home from daycare
And latch keying around the despotic living room
Like spots of green,
While I have seen the lions yawning on anonymous holidays
Through the holly,
And I skipped school and floated with the ceaselessly
Optimistic otters,
Without even knowing who you were then, or that I would
Have to run to make you my wife in time before the fairs
Of my enamoration closed their bright midways,
As the mothers swooned in their grottos of carports underneath
The lattening, fat bellies of storms.