Robert Rorabeck

Veteran Poet - 1,893 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

One Other Humid Crepescule - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Working girls out in their songs and airplanes;
All of it almost like a children’s lullaby, gone astray,
A truant from Disney World taking a leak from
The wonderful day;
And in the dirty hospices of their rooms, I saw
A marble glowing with the tricks of the first ventures
Of science;
And I saw her breasts, squeezing them like a toddler
From his nest, wanting the fairgrounds of germination,
Wanting anything to save his far astray nation;
And I did, and the airplanes purred; and it wasn’t long
Before my prong had demurred into the pallid wisping
Spin some hour after I had drunken all of my old
Liberal arts teacher’s gin; and gone and seen a movie,
And thought and talked of little minor things;
And the rains,
And the rains; and this girl was only twenty, as pink
As candy and she said no kissing, but I kissed her neck
Once softly- Her temple as warm as a candle lit cathedral;
And the park spoke to me in the cusp of her charge:
It was like living a model life forever:
Like this little wife in this little room with soft mirrors,
And her body taken under my body, like the still breathing flower
In my awful book- a colorful army surrounded by rainstorms,
So she could afford her house; like little bits of nothing to
Love in her diary- in the marginalized spaces of her notebook;
And then we parted like two body-drawn carriages that must
Pass through that night of many stars,
And ceiling fans, and the open tongued lapping of mailboxes
Trying to get one last salty gist under the billboards of this,
One other humid crepuscule.

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, February 6, 2010



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