Of A Dreamy Canal Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Corners of stone children changed irreversibly
While getting off the school bus
By the busybody eyes of some housewife medusa
Who slithers back inside,
Enjoying the air-conditioning of all her days off,
While the somewhat tame otter enjoys the pool,
Cracking cashews on its silky smooth beer belly;
And I laughing down at myself from the seepage
Of the green easement so green
As to be the wedding gown of a vermilion fairytale;
Anyway, it is here, and I am lying like my dead
Grandfather in a great orange canoe:
And the clocks are not running, the milkmen are being
Easily cannibalized by dogs; if they were dogs themselves,
And the paper snowflakes snow of fish hooks and
Fish strings;
While she bleeds beads of sweat onto her naked legs,
Saltwater confections building to nourish the refined blemishes
Of fire ants;
And I am just the cleverest thing, jobless, skipping school,
Resting assured that the telltale bastards of gods and stewardesses
Will never catch wind of me up the torpid avenue
Of a dreamy canal.