Of Last Resorts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to climb up this world like an
Ant up a leg- the leg of any mammal until
I find you and can rest panting in the little flower
Bed making an areola around your rusting
Mailbox, just as I knew it would;
And then to raise your little red flag like the fruit of
Surrender to make you come running outdoors
Like for the ice-cream truck in the early days of after school;
To get you to look at me and to remember if you can
What I never meant you to,
To pull me in like a nurse gathering the die cast trinkets
Of fighter pilots to her breast,
The little zigging tails of airplanes too tiny to be attended
By stewardesses;
And to gather me indoors beside your fire of sorts,
To rest and cuddle with your dogs and to join with your
Kind young family of last resorts.