Jobs Of Wonderful Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fields of books in love that the traffic jewels:
Pigeons sent out to find promises over an endless sea,
While I wait at home with my dog-
Getting drunker, listening to him chew the bones up of
An ex lover I had though to have buried
Sufficiently deep:
The tortoises removed from the sea, fawn during lunch
Time underneath the broken down bus:
Eating purple orchids, and making eyes at me:
When there are cyclones and gold fish in the canal,
And footpaths of vagrant truancy underneath the
Slash pines: the sky is burning a crop of honey:
Stewardesses bare their breasts- girls I don’t even know
Playing hopscotch in the sky:
Looking down, I must be a scar of diamonds to them-
Or like a shell they learned to leave behind- Now they perfume
The sky, and the sun burnishes them- metamorphosed
Out of the school yard into jobs of wonderful sky.