Our Merry Way Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

She has olive skin and this is what she does,
While my mother is coughing in the next room:
She defeats me,
She curls up in the smoking forest against the
Cabins where she doesn’t
Belong:
She strokes my dogs and defeats me and she rides
On my chest straddling backwards:
And I really appreciates what she does for me:
This night like Christmas of oh my god:
I drove to her without knowing, like a newborn never
Suspecting which of the airplanes of her mobile
Would come leaping for her eyes;
And I drove right up to her turnstile and expeditiously
Leapt inside:
Her name was Melody and she let me kiss her mouth:
Her name was Melody and for the vivisection of an hour,
Her body was my house:
And I loved all over her like rain loves the gills of fish,
And like rain loves the sides of carports,
And the rich and the poor all alike: I kissed her so many
Times, so many goodbyes for a little world of lies:
And then she opened the door so that I could fly,
And I did fly,
But so many things had woken up outside that they’d
Formed a chorus and we all sang to Melody as we drove on
Our merry way home.