Like Thunder Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Money on the vine of crows-
The dogs are laughing at the tricks of the coyote,
And you have grown further away from me,
My muse:
I’ve been drinking seven times: I just made a girl
Come four times who I never hope to see again:
In the morning on Monday,
I will return to my classes and teach and teach
And teach underneath the moon
And underneath the sun while it all keeps
Praying to Christmas,
As the sanctuaries are remembered and they
Are forgotten across the sea of the ribbons
Of mermaids-
As the gallant nights straddles the vocabularies
Of their charges,
Until they hung from trees, toes dribbling in
The defeated brooks- what color were
They then, only trinkets for the witches,
As the first thoughts of all the monsters bubbles,
And the planes roared like thunder amidst the
Cliffs of the heavens, so mindless- an apiary
That could never figure out whatever it was meant
To become.