No Special Roses Poem by Robert Rorabeck
No Special Roses
I have no special roses
Or anywhere else where I can move—
The acolytes pantomime
The stars as the stewardesses leap across
The oceans in the airplanes:
Everything seems to be okay,
But who am I to guess:
I think of her lips in shanghai—
Or the forgotten parks of our marriage,
As the bones get ready to dance
As they do again and again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/29/2026 12:32:22 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
