My Son, A Puppet Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The time stopped clocking the avenues
And the crocodiles looked up smiling the
Entrails of one-armed Pirates:
Little birds and angels in the sky seemed
To say, or at least portend,
That tomorrow was another school day,
And the juvenile echoes got
Brighter and brighter without end:
With beautiful pages outside of their
Habitats and adventures to go on we
Do not know the names of—
She has off and left us,
Stewardess emolliated with the angels—
Very impressive.
And my wife sleeps. The dog is finally
Off of his fours—
A child is about to go outside of
The tomb to see the bright day after
The movie has ended—
My son, a puppet leaving his cage
To hold my hand.