Robert Rorabeck

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

Our Kindred Obsession - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bodies like matchsticks counting,
The nights that they know are going to be very cold;
And they can only burn for awhile,
Stuck in the gravity of the atolls, trains like silver
Passageways crossing them,
Wind tunnels in Spain: The hard knocks resound through
The parks in the rain,
The swings drip tears from the chains of birds:
The light houses have all been punched in the eye by some
Hooligan truants who have been turning out,
Pretending to be sailors, to be your love
Where I drove by a cemetery today delivering impatiens,
And I said your name; but you had already returned to him
Like a dove,
Like a story book folded asleep upon itself, the way I remember
Looking at you in elementary school
When I pretended to be descended from the Mayflower:
And what were you doing all of this time but making excuses
And getting new tattoos;
But we are both descended from Germany, so we are both
Very insane-
I’ve had so much liquor I cant remember my name; but you
Are so very beautiful like a match burning in the woods,
Keeping a kindle all the light as if could so I could dream
Of my dogs;
And I am not very beautiful, but now my woods glow with your
Your ears that were pierced so many times for you sailors
All dusky on rum in the leave, kissing your lobes;
I wonder if you even hoped to notice that I was perceiving them
Also in the barrooms underneath the kerosene lamps
Of our kindred obsession.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 10, 2010

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