Like Some Birthstone Whose Month Is Green Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Awaken, deserted- the entire beach emptied,
The castles drawn,
Her lips tucked away in the car;
And aren’t the thunderstorms so jealous-
I can’t leave from beneath them they captivate me
Entirely like some birthstone whose month is
Green-
Yes, the birds are harrowed- it’s their own mistake.
They only come here when their first lover turns
Them away,
Stops baking sunflower pies for them, and then
Her mountains are all ice, and they aren’t
Even real-
They are the things I think of saying to you if I
Ever come into your new habitat without feeding money:
That I care for you like an enormous rat
Smiling with the boy tremulous from his lack of
Sugar,
While young goddesses in their bilious esplanades
Bend down and their bosoms are filled with the rich grumbling
Thoughts of gray kings- wolf daddies
Who whip the tenebrous popets up in a soup full of chariots,
But nonplused, return to the empty gains
Thrashed across the sea;
And these consumptious darlings take photographs to prove me to the darker
Things in the sky.