Metamorphosing For Her Soda Jerk Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I dream about toy boats:
Oh yes, I dream,
And comely lions open mouthed, letting
Their claret gullets team in the sun:
And caravans of tourists
(They ain’t so bad) Dysfunctional
Mother and fathers and three sibling in
Plaid:
I love the smooth borders there near the petting
Zoo, where the lake peals like the open
Eyes of a goddess,
And I have done nothing so good
As when I raided the refrigerator for- Well,
It goes along like coming of age shoots off like
Peppermint rockets up to state college,
And I am left sweltering alone with my colloquial
Knowledge,
With nothing but a harp and some expensive jam-
All night jaunts from the swings to the pram:
I watched this other girl once singing in Catholic
Chorus,
And I thought of this other girl once whose sweet soul
Was so porous that old men in the cataracts of Colorado
Used her to pan for turquoise which they smoothed
By rolling her back and forth in the palms of her hand;
And it’s about time that I set off and rubber-tramped,
And stopped collecting these butterflies and silly-stamps:
I figured it should be what I was always meant to do,
To skip along up the continental divine,
To get frost bite hickeys on my ankles: To let my unrequited
Time divide the franchises of my soul,
For Death who comes full suited carrying the horrendous
Bouquets I so wished not to smell;
But let him follow me up to her, and at least make him do
Some work,
And I will happily die beneath her, while she foams
Triumphantly something classical- even though sadly,
yes, metamorphosing for
Her soda jerk….