Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,196 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Notice - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Awaken, jet gray, while some other grandmother
Is dying today;
And the bells of new satellites ring; new planets are being
My body feels like my body in that it is a first person horror;
And I have been doing so much exploring along the dress of
Her I-95;
And, Erin, did you ever dream that this is what you would
Be doing:
Erin, I stared across to you in Latin class and I lamented,
And I bowed my head; and I wished to god I could be more
Beautiful for you, if only to capture you, to make you salient
And calm,
And a housewife blushing in your rosy balms. Because how many
More years do you figure you can be considered beautiful going
The route you are going; and who has failed you for you to
Become so broken, or am I just wrong,
And should be spending my time reminiscing to more beautiful
Muses under the sorrows of those mountains, you know;
How much longer do I have to wear these leeches for you, to
Pretend to be impervious to the grays of your apathetic shadows.
Which boys are you kissing now, or which motorcycles;
And is it never enough that one scarred woodpecker loves you,
And has let off carving out his regular figurines of conquistadors:
That I love you, and want to live with you in the very same indoors;
Please, E-, don’t let my meatball be lost;
I am still worth something, if you have ever cared or even had an
Inkling of love that has floated so slowly out back of your outdoors,
As if you didn’t know that its only wish was for you to notice.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, February 1, 2010

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